


The Fic Graveyard

by alanxna, clairelutra



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/M, beware of lapslock, writing process included
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 44,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alanxna/pseuds/alanxna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairelutra/pseuds/clairelutra
Summary: The fic graveyard, wherein the author posts projects she's officially given up on, with sketches of what was supposed to happen and an explanation for why it was abandoned, uploaded to our dear AO3 for the sake of accurately representing the sheer number of words she writes, dammit.All are Daine/Numair. See initial note for index.
Relationships: Numair Salmalín/Veralidaine Sarrasri
Comments: 110
Kudos: 35





	1. you're my clarity (separation anxiety: Daine's POV)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. you're my clarity (separation anxiety: Daine's POV) — Daine is in love with Numair. Somehow, Numair is the last to know. (no established relationship AU)  
> 2\. this love's insanity (separation anxiety: Numair's POV) — You know, Numair was doing just fine before his beloved's mother started invading his dreams to try to get him to marry her daughter. (no established relationship AU)  
> 3\. drunken confession fic take #1 — Canonverse Numair ➜ Daine drunken confession. (no established relationship AU)  
> 4\. arranged marriage AU take #1 — Numair is arranged to marry a Gallan noble for political relations reasons, and instead of the lady they said they'd send, they send country bumpkin bastard child Daine. (canonverse AU)  
> 5\. arranged marriage AU take #2 — Numair takes a stroll during the party that would introduce him to his new fiancee, Princess Veralidaine, and meets a homesick girl having a crisis of faith. Meanwhile, Daine accidentally administers a secret test of character. (canonverse AU)  
> 6\. Scrapped initial scene for [How You Always Get the Best of Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940379). (modern AU)  
> 7\. wolf puppy Daine AU take #1 — The badger god has something to ask of Numair: look after his wolf-kit until she remembers herself. (canonverse AU)  
> 8\. wolf puppy Daine AU take #2 — "I would just like it on record," said Numair Salmalín, sitting at the dining table in the great hall with his head in his hands, "that I didn't know I was looking after a young woman." (canonverse AU)  
> 9\. mermaid AU take #1 — Numair's tenure at the aquarium is characterized by one far-too-intelligent sea lion. (modern AU)  
> 10\. drunken confession fic take #2 — Canonverse Daine ➜ Numair drunken confession. (no established relationship AU)  
> 11\. unicorn fever — Obligatory unicorn fever fic. (canon-compliant)  
> 12\. carthak duchess!Daine AU — In which Ozorne makes good on his promise to make Daine a duchess. (canon divergent)  
> 13\. unplanned pregnancy — A few years down the line, Daine and Numair cave to the sexual tension and join in the Beltane festivities. This has unexpected consequences. (no established relationship AU)  
> 14\. Cinderella-ish AU alt. POV — Cinderella has no fairy godmother this time, but the prince is thoroughly charmed anyway. (canonverse AU)  
> 15\. she's in love — In which Daine has a Feeling Realization™. (Or two.) (no established relationship AU)  
> 16\. ABO AU take #1 — It's coming time for Daine's first heat and Numair is being oddly distant. Daine does not approve. (canonverse ABO AU; no established relationship AU)  
> 17\. SCRAPS & ABANDONED part 1 — Misc scraps and starts of fics that never went anywhere or did anything.  
> 18\. Wild Magic Numair POV take #1 — Numair's hawk introduction from his POV.  
> 19\. Hogwarts AU — Daine, recently hired by Groundskeeper Chamtong to help maintain the area surrounding the castle of Hogwarts, meets a strange beslimed man by the lakeside. It's the start of something beautiful. (Hogwarts AU)  
> 20\. modern AU #?? — "Rainsoaked and upset Character A (Daine) warmed up/fussed over by dry Character B (Numair)." (modern AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daine is in love with Numair. Somehow, Numair is the last to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was abandoned for two reasons:  
> \- i started writing it as a gift for my recip in an exchange i was taking part in ([fic in a box](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Fic_In_A_Box_2020/profile), which is an AMAZING exchange with so many cool works, def def def check it out), but it got waaaay out of hand. i had a month and a half, approximately, and this was starting to crawl like pulling teeth. plus, i really REALLY wanted to do numair's pov along with it, and that was a whole other monster (see: chapter 2)  
> \- daine's characterization was pure ????????? at the time. as of writing, i've spent about three months in a constant state of rereading these damn books. this was written two and a half months ago, approx. :D;; i like the concepts but she's just so much _less_ in this than i want her to be.
> 
> the idea was that uuultimately, i'd get a better grasp of daine's characterization through the outsider povs, but writing things i'm unsure of is already difficult, and then knowing that i'd be giving this to someone as a _gift_ was just... nope. can't. stars. not today.

**October 13th - October 27th, 452 H.E.**

For the first two weeks after Numair had left for Scanra, Daine was fine.

She missed him, of course, but it wasn't like she didn't semi-regularly spend that long on the road with Onua and the ponies. The extent of her distress was a little wistful daydreaming and occasionally forgetting that she needed to do all of the chores because there was no one to split them with. She scribbled the things she wanted to ask him about over bits of parchment and into the margins of her books, and then got up to help with whatever task needed doing—and, being at the royal palace, there was always some task or other that needed doing.

* * *

**October 28th - November 10th, 452 H.E.**

The next two weeks were when she _really_ started to miss him—they hadn't been apart for that long since before the start of the Immortals War.

The things she wanted to ask him blended into things she wanted to tell him, and she found herself writing those down, too, scattered notes turning into rambles that were half journal entry, half letter, and getting longer all the time. Onua tutted at her the third time she found the girl hiding in the stables, napping with the horses as she tried to lose herself in the feeling of having a herd. Zek groomed her hair, sympathetically telling her that _he'd_ been in quite a state when they separated him from his wife and children too.

She made a token attempt at telling him that Numair wasn't her husband, but according to Zek, they _were_ married by marmoset standards, and she couldn't be bothered to explain how human standards were different. If Zek wanted to think that she and Numair were married, he was welcome to think that. It wasn't like it mattered if Numair wasn't here to hear it. (Not that he'd be able to hear it anyway, but still.)

* * *

**November 11th - November 25th, 452 H.E.**

The two weeks after that were _hell._

It wasn't just the longest amount of time she'd spent away from him since the war; it was the longest she'd ever spent away from him since they _met._ She was grumpy and restless, longing for Numair's tower, the Pirate's Swoop, the open road, _anywhere_ but Corus. Nothing felt right, nothing _went_ right, and after one particularly bad day, she blew up at Kitten, who then turned grey and refused speak to her for 48 hours.

More than once, she woke up to find a few of the castle cats purring against her head and chest, wrapped in their wordless concern for a wounded colonymate. Attempting to tell them she wasn't ill or injured did no good—they were determined to purr her loneliness into nonexistence.

Surprisingly few of her bedmates objected to being cuddled in two-legger fashion, which was good, because Daine was discovering a cuddly streak she had previously been unaware of. She had _no right_ to feel this alone when surrounded by such good company, but the ache persisted.

She wasn't _moping_ , exactly—she was still getting all of her work done, wasn't she?—but Numair's return couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

**November 26th - December 1st, 452 H.E.**

His return was delayed for a week.

She'd already been scanning every courtyard and hall she passed for one particular head jutting from among the rest, but after Miri gave her the news, Daine had to resist the powerful urge to camp out at the side gate Numair favored like a particularly willful mouser.

After two days of Daine picking up every job that would let her pass through that particular courtyard, Thayet suggested she ask her friends to let her know when Numair was coming, and it was only once she had assurance that any creature within a 3-mile radius would let her know the instant they saw hide or hair of him that she returned to her usual schedule.

* * *

**December 2nd, 452 H.E.**

After seven weeks' absence, Numair finally, finally, _finally_ got back to Corus.

She was in the middle of mending tack when she heard the news—belatedly, as the description she'd given her friends hadn't accounted for the fact that Numair might be asleep on his horse on arrival—and barely heeded Onua's yelp as she dropped her work and scrambled for the door.

"Daine—?"

"Numair's back!"

"Daine, wait, your work—"

Daine did not wait.

She dashed through three chambers and skipped the low wall around the chicken coop to cut the shortest distance between her and the front of the stables, and then—there he was, handing over his tired mount to a stablehand.

He was wan, exhausted, travel-worn, scruffy—but _here_ and _well_ and _back,_ and...

His eyes found hers and lit up, a lopsided smile tugging the corners of his mouth, and something in Daine cracked, melted, evaporated.

She was across the yard in a second, crashing into his chest, any semblance of shame long forgotten, and was immediately swept off of her feet. Numair laughed as he took her momentum and swung her around in a tight hug.

"Oh, magelet. I missed you."

To Daine's surprise, there were tears stinging in her eyes. The warmth of his voice matched the feeling of his grip on her, broad hands and broad chest, the familiar scent of travel musk and his hot breath puffing against her scalp as he curved his whole upper body around her...

It felt like coming home.

Which was silly, considering that he was the one who'd come home, not her, but it was what it was.

She attempted to say, _I missed you too,_ but she was so winded and mashed so tightly to him that it came out as a tiny mumble of, "Mish 'ou."

Thankfully, Miri was there, crossing the courtyard with another load of tack, and got her message across for her. "She missed you too, Master Numair! She's been moping something fierce."

Daine pulled back enough to that they could both hear her when she said, "Was not."

"She was 'moping' like the Inland Sea is 'a little wet'," Evin added dryly. "Take her with you next time and spare us!"

"I wasn't moping," Daine reasserted, but her heart wasn't in it. All her objections and irritations met with a steel wall of _Numair's back_ and melted into nothingness. She dropped her head against his chest again and felt the discomfort of past two months mysteriously evaporate.

She was so relieved she could _kiss him._

Really, _really_ kiss him, and not particularly innocently, either, because he was back, back, _back_ and she never wanted to let him go again—never again wanted to have to endure life without him—

That thought registered, and the world came to an abrupt halt.

... _Ah._

All at once, several mismatched pieces of her life slotted together into one complete puzzle.

Numair let go of her so he could cup her cheeks and study her, searching her eyes for _something_ with a dark, inscrutable gaze—

"I wasn't moping," she said dumbly. She wasn't sure what sort of look was on her face. The whole world was distant and muffled as she reeled.

That broke his inscrutability with a rough chuckle. His expression was so warm she melted all over again. Tenderly, he kissed her forehead, then enfolded her in his arms much gentler than before.

"Well, I was."

Hidden in his embrace, Daine felt herself flush scarlet.

She stayed there until Onua came, laughingly demanding her own hug, and then she was released.

"I'm—going to check on Spots," she blurted once she was freed, then fled before anyone could question her.

* * *

* * *

* * *

**December 5th, 452 H.E.**

Cloud was worried about Daine.

It had started three days ago, when stork-man returned. Daine had gone to greet him, then come to the stables running. Cloud had seen her shut herself in one of the empty stalls, deathly pale, and then, to Cloud's great alarm, let loose a truly _deafening_ mental shriek.

Afterwards, she refused to explain what happened to distress her so, and seemed to return to normalcy... on the outside, at least.

Very few of the two-leggers seemed to realize that anything was wrong, but there wasn't a single creature among the People who _didn't_ know. How could they miss it, when Daine nearly vibrated with tightly-lidded tension so strong it could be felt the whole castle over? Cloud hadn't been able to escape that high pitched whine that had emanated from her rider no matter where she grazed.

And now Cloud was even more worried. Up until now, Daine had been completing her tasks despite her distraction, as thorough and diligent as ever, but today, something had her so distracted she'd been brushing Cloud's left flank alone for a solid twenty minutes.

 _If you'd like to move on to my right flank sometime before lights-out, I may yet believe you haven't been possessed,_ said the horse tartly. _Do you plan to tell me why you have been so unsettled these past few days, or shall I bite you?_

Daine stopped brushing. She hesitated for a long moment, then leaned forward and hid her face in Cloud's coat.

 _Numair,_ she finally said, pressing her mind so close to Cloud's that there was no chance they'd be overheard, even by other People. _I... I think I'm in love with him._

Cloud considered this. While horses didn't have an innate concept of 'in love', she tried to understand anyway. Obviously the idea was causing her rider great distress.

Daine may have been People on the inside, but her mind was still mostly that of a two-legger. Cloud had come to understand over the years that mating was a very serious matter for many, if not almost all humans, given that it was standard for them to mate for life.

With that in mind, it was Cloud's understanding that Daine was upset that she wanted stork-man—Numair—as her lifemate.

 _Is that really so terrible?_ she wondered. _Most humans come to wish for a permanent mate sooner or later._

_It's Numair! I can't be in love with **Numair!**_

_Well, if not him, who else?_ she pointed out practically. The panic in her rider's tone was rather disproportionate to the subject matter, in Cloud's opinion.

Daine uttered a noise—an audible one—that sounded a bit like choking, then squeaked (mentally), _I don't know! Anyone! Anyone who isn't him!_

Cloud, who had been a witness to the last several years of Daine's life, knew that this was ridiculous. _Seems to me you don't care for anyone else._

Daine was offended. Images of Onua, Alanna, Miri and Evin, Jon, Thayet, Kalasin and the other children, Kaddar, Maura, Tkaa, and Skysong flashed in Cloud's mind. _I care for plenty of people!_

_Not like that. Not like you do him._

Daine went quiet in a way that meant she knew she couldn't argue.

Slowly, she drew away from Cloud's side and walked around her hindquarters to her right flank. Brushing away dirt and grime in strokes too listless to be considered methodical, she mumbled, "It's making me _silly."_

_You were already plenty silly._

"Not like this," Daine argued. Her embarrassment radiated out loud and clear. _He called me 'lovely' and now I can't be bothered to think of anything else! I'm wanting for lotions and hair ribbons so he might say it again! Hair ribbons! What kind of two-legger nonsense is this?!_

Cloud could think of all sorts of animals who prettied up to attract a potential mate, but didn't get the chance to relay that thought.

 _And it's never going to come to anything, even if I do get myself lotions and hair ribbons,_ Daine went on, abruptly depressed. She rested her forehead against Cloud's flank once again. _I've seen the ladies he's courted. He's never going to think of me as anything more than a foal._

He treats you very much like a mate for someone who only thinks of you as a foal, Cloud thought but did not say. What she did say was, _Well, you were right. This is making you even sillier._

Daine's embarrassment took on a sullen note.

 _But I am a pony,_ Cloud went on. _There is only so much I know about two-legger business, and most of it is through you. Go talk to another human about this—they will understand better._

Reluctant, Daine didn't reply.

Cloud put her hoof down. _Your knight friend, Alanna, has a lifemate, as does the queen, and Onua has experience. I do not have either of those things. I am a pony. Talk to them, please._ It wasn't a suggestion.

Daine sighed enormously, then said, "Yes, mum."

_Good. And ask stork-man if he can't help you keep your mind in place, like he did before. You're disturbing everyone's peace._

Daine grumbled something about thinking about it, then resumed grooming Cloud, much calmer than before.

* * *

Daine didn't go to her teacher for the mental wards right after that, and Cloud didn't intend to push. The high-pitched whine had died down to a well-corralled static-before-a-storm distress, and the People of Corus were calming once again.

That is, Cloud wasn't going to push, until she woke up that night much friskier than any mare had the right to past October, and knew instantly who was at fault. That she wasn't the only creature feeling the unseasonable heat only proved it further.

Wanting to mate for life did include 'mating', she supposed. That just took on a different weight when you were connected to every member of the People at once.

Thus, in the midst of nesting ducks, mating frogs, and much-too-active woodchucks, the mare woke her rider and firmly herded her to the stork-man's door.

 _And don't come out again until he fixes you,_ she ordered—which she _thought_ was clear enough, but from the flutter of dream-born images that came through the bond, it was not. _With his mind-magics,_ she added. Apparently, it was necessary.

Scarlet-faced and flooding mortification, Daine obeyed.

* * *

* * *

* * *

OUTLINE:

every pov is that person realizing daine is in love with numair (except the last, obvs).

x daine pov: daine missing numair like Hell while he's in scanra, hugging him when he gets back, realizing that he feels like Home and also she really really really wants to kiss him and Panics  
x cloud pov: daine has a quiet meltdown on cloud's shoulder, cloud insists that she go talk to another two-legger about this (and also get numair to put mental wards up so she won't leak her Feels over every critter in a mile radius)  
\- alanna pov: daine talks to alanna ("...so... how do you know you're in love")  
\- george pov: daine dancing with numair at the midwinter ball (daine is giddy/delighted around numair the way she just Isn't around any of her other suitors, george goes 'ohooo')  
\- onua pov: daine talks to onua ("so i think i'm in love with numair" "...yeah that tracks")  
\- kel pov: daine having a screm moment over her and numair having a Moment (when he gives her her bday gifts) , kel... comforts her ("...there, there" _i'm so sorry, neal. i think your chances are nil._ )  
\- tkaa pov: her, tkaa, daine, and alanna watching numair deal with horny mermaids on the beach (numair gets doused and daine drools over the wet tshirt Moment™ while numair ???s and alanna Laughs)  
\- jon pov: jon finds out via... reasons, addresses the citizenship thing  
\- miri pov: miri Wants To Know (cut to her seeing daine and numair stargaze at beltane)  
\- kaddar pov: daine is in carthak for Reasons, having dinner with kaddar, and gets really flaily over numair, idk it leads to the "WAIT I THOUGHT YOU KNEW" moment  
\- daine pov: daine does Some Thinking and then confesses to numair ("...yeah, your mom had a few things to say about that, tbh" "what.")

* * *

BRAINSTORMING/ADDITIONAL NOTES:

\- daine realizes she's in love with numair and has a lot of "oh my fucking god I’m in love with him AW HORSEFEATHERS. MA. MAaaaaa" feels  
\- except it's outsider pov  
\- and somehow numair's the last to know  
\- alanna finds out first because daine goes to her as the closest thing to her ma, and she thinks the whole thing is adorable and hilarious in a... "omg CUTE PUPPY" kinda way  
\- onua finds out and is like "...well, you could do worse ~~can't believe i didn't see that coming~~ "  
\- i was skimming the kel books for mentions of daine/numair and was reminded that neal actually had a huge crush on daine. which gave me this image of kel awkwardly patting daine's shoulder (while she has a mental breakdown over Feelings) and silently apologizing to neal  
\- george finds out and kinda shrugs like "yeah that checks out"  
\- jon finds out and has a [record scratch] moment until he remembers that they're their own people, not the crown's, and is sort of amused. tells daine to let him know if they get married because he wants to attend the wedding (daine suffers A Death)  
\- tkaa is like " _sage nod_ ah, mortal affairs"  
\- kitten teases her relentlessly  
\- miri Just Wants To Know Who  
\- kaddar's like "...wait. it took you _this long_ to figure that out??? I THOUGHT YOU KNEW"  
\- weiryn's like "...yes, and?"  
\- brokefang + the rest of the pack are like "...well, you _are_ the two leads of your pack, isn't that natural??"  
\- cloud would headdesk if she weren't a horse  
\- (meanwhile, numair, aaaaalmost unnoticed, keeps going complete hearteyes at daine's back and then Hating Himself)  
\- (....sarra Knows. sarra Laughs. sarra comes to numair's dreams to console/advise/laugh at him under the reasoning that her child is never going to get anywhere if her future son-in-law refuses to become her future son-in-law. actually she somehow just likes numair as a person and dragging him is just Fun.)  
\- jon goes _oh wait you're citizens not nobles_ and then _wait shit is daine a citizen. did she ever file for citizenship. fuck what if galla ends up wanting her back._ and then "here, if you're not planning on marrying him soon—" "WHAT" "—go take this to the clerk and file for citizenship. it's important."  
\- george is like "HMMM" and then "...wait none of my spies informed me of this, better make a note, relationship status between high profile people is important"  
\- tkaa makes idle note of how drawn out human courtship rituals are. kitten gossips.  
\- miri goes "c'moooon, teeeeelll" "no" "pleeeeease?" "no" "come on..." "no" "okay okay at LEAST tell me if he's hot" "...........................yes" "HA" -- and then she (miri) is wondering why daine is spending beltane just staring at the stars with numair, both ruining their impressive outfits, and thinking that's just typical of daine lolololol— _o shit_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the concept is cool, i thiiiink, but i'd really need to rework huge swathes of my ideas, because my grasp of daine was just so shaky at this point :'D the others are more or less acceptable, but damn, daine. _just who are you_.


	2. this love's insanity (separation anxiety: Numair's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know, Numair was doing just fine before his beloved's mother started invading his dreams to try to get him to marry her daughter.

FAILED START:

When Numair had left for Scanra to assist the Tortallian delegation, he predicted that he'd want to turn around and head right back home in two weeks.

As it turned out, he was wrong; it only took one week.

One week into the northern lands and he was sure he'd never be warm again, the locals—speak not of the nobles—irritated him to no end, and his company had started to chafe something fierce.

Also, there was no Daine.

The timing just hadn't been right (she was helping with the tail end of training for the latest batch of Riders) and it was generally agreed that putting her under the Council of Ten's notice was ill-advised, so while he crossed the Vassa River, Daine remained stationed cozily in Corus.

At least one of them would be warm.

There was nothing wrong with Duke Gareth of Naxen and Lord Imrah of Lagann—most of the time, Numair was quite fond of them—but they weren't _friends,_ and in absence of Onua, Alanna, George, Jon, _and_ Daine (especially Daine), the fact that he couldn't escape them had him set to crawl out of his own skin.

Scanran nobles, he found when they arrived at their destination, were just as charming as ever, and the Council of Ten just as slimy. The commoners, while better, weren't people he got to spend much time with, and still weren't anything like Tortallians (though, fairly speaking, that may have been down to his homesickness).

Nothing to do but grit his teeth and bear it, so bear it he did. Possibly in worse temper than he might have otherwise (he _noticed_ when everyone started avoiding him only a little more than a week in, thank you very much), but he bore it.

Possibly the worst part of all of this (besides an absence of Daine, but the perils of her presence would far outweigh the positives, so he wasn't counting that), was that he couldn't even write home.

Oh, there were twice-weekly reports to Jon, but those were a one-way relay of information. He didn't dare ask for news when the walls had ears, and Jon never offered it. He kept his information as strictly factual as he could make it, and there were plenty of facts to unload.

It was still terribly, terribly lonely.

Finally, after _three weeks_ of pointlessly circular debates, unwelcome company, and trying desperately not to ask Jon how Daine was doing, the delegation achieved something of a peace accord, and was free to leave.

"I never knew you could keep up such a threatening persona for so long," said Lord Imrah conversationally on their way back. Numair was familiar enough with the man to know that the graveness of his expression belied amusement. "I commend you. It was a great help."

Numair didn't dignify that with a response.

(The _real_ worst part of it was _knowing_ how much Daine's presence would have helped—and just how much of his foul mood was down to the lack of her. His other friends could have made it tolerable, but Daine...

There was _so much_ he wanted to tell her, show her, just so he could see that enchanting little smile. His whole trip was peppered with moments spent wondering what Daine would think of the talks, of the people, of the rooms, of the food, of the animals, of the snow, of the views, of the politics and the commons. He kept making comments that he knew would have earned him a grin if she'd been there, but she wasn't there.

Lindhall joked about how Numair would need five assistants to do what Daine did once she was gone [A/N: i trailed off here and had a crisis about how Love Isn't Real and how could i possibly even THINK daine was irreplaceable to numair and attachment is fake and it was just a really weird time all around]

He didn't much like knowing what it was like to live without her. It kept reminding him that one day, most likely he would _have_ to live without her.)

* * *

* * *

* * *

REAL START:

When Numair laid down in his tent to sleep, what he expected to do was sleep.

It had been only a few months since the end of the Immortals War, which, if his life held its patterns, meant that he had anywhere between a few months and a few years before the gods decided to interrupt again, and, should the gods decide that matters were more pressing than that, he would have expected the badger, or maybe Gainel to deliver omens of future trials.

He did _not_ expect to find himself sitting at The Green Lady's kitchen table.

(Technically, it was Weiryn's table, but Daine's mother had made its true ownership quite clear.)

The Green Lady herself was standing by the stove, stirring a pot on the fire and humming under her breath, wearing a simple blue muslin dress instead of her full godly persona. She acknowledged him with a nod and a smile, and then moved her pot off of the fire.

"My lady," he greeted her with a cautious half-bow. He didn't think standing up to pay his respects would be a very good idea. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She took the seat across from him with a threateningly amiable smile. "You, good sir, are dawdling."

"...What?"

"What are you waiting for?"

Numair couldn't rightfully think of anything he was hesitating to do—certainly not anything a minor goddess of healing and childbirth might want him to do.

Daine's mother looked expectant. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Numair felt himself flush. He didn't have to ask who she meant.

The fact that both of Daine's parents had taken one glance at him and _known_ he was pining after their daughter was one of the more awkward aspects of his carefully managed (completely inappropriate, _usually_ unnoticed) affections. He suspected that most of the gods knew (or, at least, those who cared to know knew; the thought of Mithros paying heed to his wayward heart was not a pleasant thought in the least) but not many of them cared about his relationships. Daine's parents, on the other hand...

"I don't see what that has to do with anything," he said neutrally, cheeks still burning.

Sarra was affronted. "It has to do with everything! She loves you, you know."

He _wished_ she wouldn't do that. It felt like his heart had stopped for a moment there. "She does." He was under no illusions that Daine didn't adore him as a friend and teacher. In a way, that was the worst part of all this. "And your point is that...?"

"Why, that you should marry her, of course."

There were several responses he could give to that statement—some of which were questions, some of which were objections, and some of which were simple expressions of disbelief—and they all competed to be voiced first.

Eventually he settled on the most succinct: "What?"

Sarra tilted her head. Her eyes were dancing.

He tried again. "You want me to... what?"

"Marry my daughter, Daine."

"...Marry your... daughter. Marry Daine."

She beamed at him like he was a tot who had correctly added one and one to make two. "Yes, exactly."

_"Why?"_

"Because you love her, and she loves you," Sarra explained, like it was really just that simple. "And you may be a fair strange man, but you're a good one. I want my daughter to marry a good man."

He didn't even know where to begin with that.

(...And he'd been _certain_ that he'd left Sarra and Weiryn's household with neither their blessing nor their approval—not that it mattered in any practical sense beyond his own peace of mind, obviously, but still—so aside from all the... logical difficulties of what she was urging him to do, this was a rather startling about-turn from her prior dismissal.)

Putting aside things like station, age, existing non-romantic bonds, possible repercussions on all sides... "And—what makes you think your daughter wants to marry _me?_ She... _cares_ for me, I know, but it's not—"

Sarra, who had been getting up as he spoke, checked on her pot and cut him off with a metal _clank._ "Of course it is."

Numair shut his mouth.

She glanced over her shoulder; there was sympathy behind the amusement in her blue-grey eyes. "I've said it several times now, haven't I? She loves you. Have a little faith."

Then the kitchen dissolved, and Numair woke up.

* * *

**December 2nd, 452 H.E.**

Afterwards, Numair could never place quite _when_ he'd had that dream. It was sometime during his two month trip to Scanra when he'd joined Duke Gareth and Lord Imrah on a diplomatic mission, but whether it was during that first week of dreading the Council of Ten or the last week after they'd been waylaid by killer unicorns, he didn't know.

What he _did_ know was that he never wanted to travel without Daine again.

This, of course, was an extension of a general wish to never be without Daine at all, but traveling was a special bear without her. He'd known that he relied on her, of course, but he'd entirely taken for granted just _how much_ she did for him.

He'd known that sharing the road with her was _fun_ in a way that traveling without her never had been, but somehow, he'd never fully realized that Daine intuited _exactly_ what he needed at almost any given moment and found a way to make sure he had it. He'd never realized how centering it was to fall into the rhythm of setting up and breaking down a camp with her, or how soothing the quiet breathing of her and her nighttime companions was.

The delegation was twenty strong, and yet Numair wasn't used to feeling this alone. There was no one to share his observations with, no affectionate exasperation or blunt practicality or genuine interest to meet him, no comments or questions or relayed conversations to break his solitude.

Daine never wasted words and her voice never grated. Her piercing gaze never saw anything but what he was, and never seemed to find him wanting. It was a rare day that she didn't brighten at the sight of him, and an even rarer day that the feeling wasn't mutual.

Lindhall sometimes joked that Numair would need five assistants to do what Daine did once she was gone, but Numair doubted that all the assistants in the world would be able to hold a candle to what Daine was to him.

He didn't much like knowing what it would be like to live without her. It reminded him that one day, he would have to.

It was those cheery musings that held him as he dozed on the road around the city, up to the side gate to the palace, at which point he was forced to sit up and dismount, dislodging the saddle blanket he'd appropriated from the supplies and blasting himself with godsforsaken _cold._

Shivering, he found a stablehand to hand Spots off to, wondering if he could get away with tracking down Daine to say hello before anything else or if that would be too telling—and, if it was, how much he cared. Seven weeks of bare-minimum fire-scrying contact with Jon alone for periodic reports had left him with, _she's alive and well,_ and that wasn't nearly enough, really.

It would be easier to do it casually if he knew where she was at the moment, but jobs around the palace for the young and able-bodied and unaffiliated shuffled so fast that there was no real way for him to know if she was mending tack or helping in the mess hall or being made to entertain visiting nobles. The only way he could find out would be to ask, and it would probably be better for everyone if the first thing he did upon returning home was _not_ to stop strangers on the street and ask where the Wildmage was like a lost tourist.

Just as he was wistfully giving up the idea—he could probably get away with asking Onua where she was if he found her first, but that was unlikely—he caught sight of someone out of the corner of his eye.

Lo and behold, it was Daine.

A wide-eyed, somewhat disheveled, heartbreakingly hopeful-looking Daine in a blue sweater and fitted brown breeches, voluminous mass of curls framing her lovely face, soft lips parted in surprise.

Now that _was_ a sight for sore eyes.

Something in her face— _changed_ when their eyes met, but he didn't have the time to think about it, because then she was sprinting across the courtyard.

She hit him full tilt and latched onto him without so much as a warning, and he had to swing her around so they wouldn't topple, laughing as much at her enthusiasm as he was in his own delight and relief.

 _Now_ he was truly home.

"Oh, magelet," he murmured into her hair, holding her closer—or trying to, at any rate. Her grip on him was already tight as a vice. "I missed you."

She mumbled something incoherent into his chest that sounded somewhat like concurrence, her blessed body heat seeping through their layers.

Two of her Rider friends, Evin and Miri, emerged from the stable the stablehand had led Spots into, each carrying an armload of worn tack.

"She missed you too, Master Numair!" Miri interjected cheerfully, slowing but not quite stopping as she passed, grinning at the two of them. "She's been moping something _fierce."_

He wasn't sure Daine could have missed him half as much as he'd missed her, but he was pleased that he'd been missed all the same. Not that it was a surprise, but the acknowledgement was... nice.

She removed her face from his chest to say, "Was not," in what was possibly the least convincing way possible, and Numair's heart squeezed at the first real sound of her voice he'd heard in ages.

Seven weeks was far, far, _far_ too long.

Evin adjusted his grip on his tack, looking droll. "She was 'moping' like the Inland Sea is 'a little wet'." A good-natured grin crossed his face to match Miri's. "Take her with you next time and spare us!"

"I wasn't moping," Daine objected again, somewhat piteously. She still hadn't let go of him. She didn't seem like she had plans to do so anytime soon. Numair had no problems with this course of inaction whatsoever.

( _I've said it several times now, haven't I? She loves you. Have a little faith._ )

He nodded to the two Riders as they left on their mission to deliver the tack. His pulse was skittering out of its pounding rhythm at the memory of Sarra's words.

(...What _might_ have been Sarra's words. He was still on the fence as to whether that had been a divine visitation or conjured by his own mind. He'd certainly been in a place of longing for... something—encouragement, Daine, advice, Daine, a talking-to, or Daine—but that dream had been so _real_ that he couldn't entirely discount its possible legitimacy.)

He contemplated her smoky brown curls for a long moment, then hesitated for one more breath, then let go of her so he could cup her cheeks and tilt her face up to his.

(If she did love him, he'd be able to see it, wouldn't he?)

Her face was the selfsame as ever—a soft mouth and a stubborn chin and piercing, steadfast eyes that were silver in some lights and sky blue in others, eyes that belied a _joie de vivre_ that not even a war had been able to taint—and her expression was a little blank and unfocused, but open and guileless all the same.

 _Lovely,_ untouchable in ways that had nothing to do with touch, familiar and sweet. The face of his closest and dearest friend and the face of his unattainable ( _forbidden_ ) dream.

She stared at him right back for a moment, then reiterated, "I wasn't moping."

He had to laugh.

He kissed her forehead ( _not_ her lips, however inviting they were), then held her close again. He took a moment to truly soak in the feeling of her in his arms. It wasn't often that he had an excuse to just hold her.

"Well, I was," he admitted freely.

(He had been, too. Lord Imrah had even complimented him on his suitably threatening persona and expressed his surprise that Numair had maintained it for so long. Numair had declined to comment—saying _I haven't seen or spoken to or heard from the love of my life in weeks and the next person who expects me to be pleasant and sociable on my own time will live to regret it_ would have been... unwise, however true.)

She didn't have a reply to that, and that was fine by Numair. Her death grip on him had relaxed into a normal embrace, letting her lithe form become a bit more of its own entity, rather than a human-shaped mass plastered to his front, and he found himself memorizing her all over again.

She was small—not quite as short as Alanna, but shorter than Onua—built lightly instead of stocky and sturdy like they were, and the curve of her spine was sinuous and sweet as she rested her full (barely substantial) weight against him. Her hair was silken under his hands, the way it got after recent shifts, and he could feel her heart still thrumming quick and hard from her sprint. Inhaling had him smelling hair and soap and leather and hay and sweat.

Home, home, home, _home._

He was just starting to think that he probably couldn't get away with embracing her much longer when Onua arrived.

 _"There_ you are!" she greeted him with a wide smile. "We thought you'd never get back."

He exhaled a laugh, giving Daine a squeeze. "Sometimes, neither did we. That journey lasted _far_ too long."

"Jon told us—killer unicorns? And, Daine, you're hogging him. Where's _my_ hug?"

Numair let go of Daine with another chuckle and stepped around her to embrace Onua next. He'd missed her too—maybe not quite as much as Daine, but there was a reason he'd taken to the cynical hostler almost immediately. The absence of her down-to-earth dry humor had been sorely felt.

Numair caught an odd expression flickering across Daine's face as she watched them, but then she said, "I'm going to check on Spots," and turned and headed into the stable, which was about what he expected, so he didn't think much of it.

"...Huh," Onua said in Daine's wake as Numair let go of her. "Color me surprised. She was moping so hard I thought we'd have to take a scraper to the two of you to get her off once you got back."

He wouldn't say he wasn't pleased (again) at the reminder that he'd been missed, but he knew she would get half her news from Spots and then the other half from him once she'd looked over her friends.

(It was a reality check, of sorts. Sarra (if it had really been Sarra) was wrong—the truth of him and Daine was _this,_ not passionate embraces and ardor-laden intimacy and promises of forever, however much he might long for it.)

"We'll talk later, I'm sure," he said, clasping Onua's shoulder for a moment as he turned. "First, a bath and a meal."

* * *

**December 5th-6th, 452 H.E.**

A few days later, he dreamed about Sarra again.

It had been quiet in the meantime—time spent resting up, getting reacquainted with his rooms (and his bed; it was second only to Daine in things he'd missed about Tortall) and nibbling his way through the bread and cheese and fruit preserves that got delivered to his door, sometimes by maids and sometimes by friends stopping by for a chat.

Daine was there the most. A year ago that wouldn't have made him blink. Two months ago that would have made him smile. Now, with maybe-Sarra's words haunting him (despite his best efforts at dispelling them), it made his heart flip over when he realized, again and again, that she'd been with him for hours on end and had no plans to leave anytime soon.

His third day back was the first time she didn't stay long enough to end up dozing off on his settee, and that was because Cloud was getting fussy about people who weren't her rider grooming her.

(...Or, at least that was what Daine told him.

She was hiding _something_ from him, and he couldn't figure out what. The way she avoided his eye sometimes or locked down at certain phrases, escaping to the other side of the room at some touches but not others, and, most tellingly, how fidgety her friends had gotten—she was subtle about it, but he would have been blind not to notice.

It didn't seem to be causing her distress, though, and it didn't seem to be coming between the two of them, so he wouldn't press. Not that he wasn't deathly curious, but whatever was bothering her would either fade away or she'd end up telling him at some point. A little patience wouldn't kill him, especially because that was usually what Daine needed the most.)

He used the evening of solitude to take inventory of the materials he'd ordered for Daine's Midwinter gift. It had taken far too long to find sapphires and lapis lazuli stones of the correct shades, and with the setback of the extra week spent on the Scanra diplomacy mission, he might be cutting it close.

It had been much easier to find the aquamarines, for all that the treatments he'd commissioned on them were more costly. Ironic, when he'd wanted a flawless star sapphire as the crown jewel, so to speak, but those were rarer than they were valuable—they were considered oddities and baubles that nobles favored because they were very little different, magically, than normal sapphires of a lower grade.

(...With any luck, Daine would remember _that_ particular ramble of his, and not the one where he'd mentioned that aquamarine was notoriously difficult—and expensive—to work with.)

He could start on the bases now that he knew exactly what stones he'd be working with, so that was what he spent the rest of his evening on.

And he was _sure_ that after that he'd both gotten ready for bed and successfully made it into said bed, but the midnight hour found him fully dressed and right back at his work desk.

Behind him, perched on the settee, was The Green Lady.

"She was moping like you wouldn't _believe,"_ said the deity, apropos of nothing.

Numair took stock of the desk—on it was an odd hodgepodge of magic enhancers he didn't need, half-completed drafts for wards that he'd finished already, and the materials he didn't yet have for Duke Gareth's commission of a spelled lock—and turned to face his company.

"So I'm told," he replied dryly. Somehow, it wasn't _quite_ as heartwarming to hear it from her as it was the others.

Sarra was dressed finer this time—a dress of grass-green silk with gold hemming, green ribbons woven through her blonde hair, her face painted lightly but notably—and the outfit was befitting of a lady of the court, rather than a country housewife. Sitting with her legs crossed, she leaned forward and laced her fingers together over her knee. "You don't believe it? Even the cats were worried!"

"It's not that I don't believe she missed me," he said, pulling out the stool he used when he got tired of standing, "it's that I have my suspicions about your motives for bringing it up."

Daine's mother beamed winsomely—and with a distinct lack of shame.

A thought struck him. "And, might I ask, how are you _here?"_ he asked, genuinely curious.

She cocked her head.

"You're a goddess of healing and childbirth in northern _Galla,_ correct? How did you end up in Tortall?"

"I'm also a goddess of matters of the heart," she said brightly—and maybe a bit smugly. "As my daughter was born in northern Galla and this is a matter of her heart, it is also within my dominion."

...That had _fascinating_ implications with regards to loopholes in godly powers, and how much the gods' power was tied to their _own_ belief, and not only their followers'. Would it still have worked if he'd never met her and thus she had never been proven real to him? Would it have worked if he'd believed in her as a deity anyway? Under that loophole, could she affect his physical surroundings, or just him? And why—...

He frowned. "So why are you talking to _me,_ not Daine?"

"What makes you believe I'm not?" she said haughtily—and just pettily enough that he knew immediately that she wasn't talking to Daine.

He raised his eyebrows.

"...I'm not allowed to unless it's on an equinox or solstice," she grumbled on a sigh.

Numair blinked. "Punishment or payment?"

"I never _have_ been able to figure that one out." Sarra looked rueful. "Mithros never said."

"Huh." So knowledge of these things wasn't innate—at least not for deities who'd started out fully mortal. Was this something that demigods or those who were gods upon creation would be able to tell? He wished he could take notes and have them to keep.

"But we're not here to talk about that," said Sarra, straightening with a pointedly beatific smile. _"We_ are here to talk about my daughter."

"By all means..." Numair muttered, knowing she could hear him and not particularly caring. He'd been _enjoying_ their previous topic, thankyouverymuch.

"I don't understand what you're waiting for!" she said—scolded. "You love her. She loves you. And here you are—you haven't even made your intentions known to her!"

"That's because I have no 'intentions'," Numair explained patiently. "She's my student. She's..." He decided that he didn't want to put himself through the ordeal of saying _sixteen_ and finished instead with, "...young. She's one of my dearest friends. I'm _not_ going to ruin that. She deserves better."

Sometimes Sarra's eyes could get just as piercing as her daughter's, Numair found. "Deserves better than to have it 'ruined', as you say, or deserves better than _you?"_

He opted out of answering that.

"I've never met a man so self-sabotagingly respectful before," Sarra remarked, leaning back. She looked reluctantly charmed.

(From what Daine had said about Snowsdale—and her mother's relation to the people of Snowsdale—Numair had to wonder how large her sample size for 'respectful men' was, self-sabotagingly so or otherwise.)

"It's worked out well for me so far," he said mildly—gods knew it was the only reason Onua had talked to him at all, much less had been willing to befriend him—and turned back to his work desk. "So I think I'll continue to have common decency, thank you."

She let him clean up the mess on his desk in silence for a few moments, then said, "And what if _she_ comes to _you?_ Would it be 'common decency' to turn her down?"

The lump of pewter he'd been holding slipped through his numb fingers, and he scrambled to catch it.

Again, he _really wished she wouldn't do that._ His heart was making a valiant attempt at escaping through his mouth at the thought, his face flushing and his insides a jumbled mess.

"I don't suppose we'll ever know," he said, trying for 'cavalier' and ending up closer to 'snapping'. He glanced over his shoulder. "Is that all?"

The way she was smiling suggested that he'd walked into a trap.

Up until now, she'd left his mind well enough alone, but when he met her eye, he could feel her tug at a corner of his memory.

An image of Daine shimmered to life, sitting on the surface of his desk to his right. She was wearing what she'd worn this afternoon—tight black breeches and a cool-grey shirt that was just fitted _enough_ to keep him from being able to entirely ignore her curves, and that left more of her collarbone bare to the eye than was strictly practical for this time of year, the leather thong that held the badger's claw leaving little shadows in the dip of them and then disappearing under the embroidery-lined neckline—and, coming from his own mind, he knew that this was a pure memory, not a fantasy or apparition.

She was swinging her booted feet idly, the book of Scanran animals he'd brought back for her open on her lap. He remembered thinking they were of a height like this as he glanced at the curl hanging over her cheek—which wasn't strictly true; if she sat up straight, she would have a few inches on him, but it was close enough—and that maybe he should admire her from _slightly_ farther away. It was dangerous to be this close.

Before he'd managed to make himself move, Daine had gestured at something on her page and, thoughtlessly, he'd leaned over to see.

(Inhaling a lungful of spice and sweetness, hay and earth, soap and skin and hair—the dark line of her eyelashes and the faint flush on her pale cheeks, lips parted slightly as she breathed—)

He couldn't remember what he'd said, but whatever it was, it had had her directing that irresistible smile at her page, and he'd had no choice but to smile too.

He'd moved to the other side of his workspace before he could do anything he'd regret (kiss her, nose her hairline, reel her in by the waist and run his lips over the junction of her neck and shoulder to coax her into gasping and shivering and giggling...), and let his pulse calm down before making another attempt at conversation, and she'd let him be.

 _"The shirt is new,"_ he'd eventually said. He didn't make a point of memorizing her wardrobe, but it was small enough and he saw her often enough that he ended up memorizing it anyway. The shirt was an elegant garment, even beyond how she looked in it.

Daine had plucked at the fabric, looking rueful. _"Thayet said I needed more pretty things and offered to commission more of them, but they're a bit too fine for me."_ She'd regarded the embroidery on the cuff, where black vines danced and curled and sheltered a lone, muted red bird. _"Goddess knows I'd have them ruined in no time at all, and they're fair expensive."_

 _"You should take her up on it,"_ had slipped out of him. _"You look lovely."_

She'd jerked and stared at him (the light had caught her eyes in that moment and turned them a stunning shade of blue-silver), and he could have bitten off his tongue.

He'd _meant_ to say, _It looks lovely on you,_ not that that was much better. He hadn't backpedaled after that because really, that would just make it worse.

Instead, he'd met her gaze and offered her a smile that was much steadier than he'd felt—no sense in letting her think the compliment hadn't been genuine—then looked down at his work, too wrong-footed to even curse himself.

 _"...Oh,"_ she'd said belatedly, and out of the corner of his eye, he'd seen her hide a blush behind her hair.

Suddenly, he had a little more distance from his point of view—far enough away to see his own back and get a good look at Daine's face at that moment (The Green Lady's view of the events?), and Daine...

...Was much more flustered than he'd thought, her cheeks flooded a deep shade of scarlet instead of the gentle rose he'd assumed and her mouth pressed into a funny line that both did and didn't want to smile at the same time.

Involuntarily, he remembered that it wasn't long after that that she'd excused herself, faintly pink.

Sarra was smirking as the memory faded.

"I'm not sure what you meant to prove with that," Numair remarked, despite knowing _exactly_ what she meant to prove with that. He _hated_ that he was suddenly wavering on her point.

Daine just didn't fluster that easily.

"You're going to deny this to the bitter end, aren't you?" Sarra seemed more entertained than put out.

 _If I say yes, will you leave me alone?_ Numair sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Regardless of how either I or Daine feel—"

A loud pounding cut him off. Sarra stopped leering to shoot the door a confused glance—

_BANG-BANG-BANG._

—then dissolved along with the rest of his study.

Numair found himself blinking awake to the sight of his bedroom ceiling.

Looked like he'd made it back to his bed after all.

Familiar with abrupt (occasionally-but-not-always alarmed) midnight callers, Numair rolled out of bed and grabbed a cloak to throw over his nightshirt, poking at the dream-maybe-not-dream in his mind. Again it felt more like a divine visit than not, and again, the subject matter was a somewhat unbelievable.

At the very least he was pretty sure he could dismiss that bit at the end with Daine as fiction born of his own mind (he conveniently ignored that that went against how godly visions functioned), but _was_ The Green Lady truly visiting his dreams? ...With the intent of convincing him to marry her daughter?

It felt too real to entirely dismiss and too ridiculous to fully believe.

At any rate, he opened the door and found...

Daine?

Daine and... _Cloud?_

Daine was flushed just as scarlet as she had been in his dream, except her expression here was one of sullen humiliation, not repressed delight. Her arms were folded, pulling the fabric of her too-small off-white nightdress tight around her shoulders (a corner of his brain noted the goosebumps on her arms and legs, and he _pointedly_ refused to let it dwell on her chest), and she seemed to be trying not to shift on her feet.

The pony, on the other hand, looked as stern as only a notably intelligent equine could while... standing in a passage on the third floor of a palace? How had she managed to get _up_ here?

Now this _was_ baffling company.

He gestured them in, and Daine stepped into his sitting room while the pony opted to remain posted outside the door.

"Magelet? What's wrong?"

Daine came to a halt and took a deep breath (Numair still refused to glance down), then gritted out, "D'you remember... when you helped me make sure I stay human when I first came to Tortall?"

"...Yes?" The tangle of wild magic had been much too unruly for her at the time, so he'd set up mental wards between it and her core—a safety latch, of sorts, to ground her mind and keep it from being consumed any more than she willed it to be. With her control now, it was likely no more than a relic.

"Is there anything..." She clenched her jaw, then breathed out. "Anything you could do to..." Her blush deepened. "...to make sure I don't... _talk_ with my friends while I sleep?"

That request was even odder than the company. "Did something happen?"

Her expression made it very clear that she'd prefer to keep the acknowledgements of her reasons as minimal as possible.

"Well... it should be possible." He thought about it. He knew she could cut contact on her end and shut out voices she didn't want to hear, and while keeping a mind to itself was a trickier process than simply separating its core from the rest of her, fashioning her a mental stock should be fairly simple. "What do you need it to do, exactly? Keep you from hearing them? Them from hearing you? Both?"

"Make sure I keep t' _myself,"_ she muttered.

"Magic and all?"

Crimson, she nodded.

An imprint of a specific mental state would be more difficult than a communication barrier (at least, it would be if she didn't want to be a vegetable while she used it), but still workable.

"Do you want to do it now? It might take a bit."

Daine grimaced. "Cloud says she won't let me out 'til we do."

 _Curiouser and curiouser._ "Take a seat then, and let's get started. Might want to grab that blanket."

(Ironically, the magic enhancers that had been on his desk in his dream were the ones he needed now.)

* * *

The sun was above the horizon by the time he was satisfied that the ward would hold and wouldn't hurt her in the process, so he ordered breakfast for two and shooed her into the clothes of hers that always ended up in his bags (keeping some on hand was just practical after she started shapeshifting), and then he asked her to help him with Duke Gareth's commission, because really, even without the Gift her assistance was invaluable.

(...Mostly, he would very much prefer if his very pretty teenage student _didn't_ leave his rooms in the morning, in her nightdress, looking rumpled and exhausted but satisfied. The rumors about the two of them had gotten less and less funny the more and more uncomfortably plausible they got, and he'd really rather not feed them so soon after that dream.)

Daine agreed to stay for breakfast but not longer than that, but at least she cleaned up and took her books with her when she went, so it seemed _slightly_ less incriminating than it might.

Of course, then he checked up on Stefan and learned that the whole of the castle grounds had been subject to an extremely localized, extremely brief, extremely intense mating season across all species, and both Daine's blushing reticence and Cloud's stern insistence made a great deal more sense.

Sex dreams, he supposed, were much more awkward when you were a demigoddess connected to every animal in a three-mile radius.

Well.

The rumors would be inescapable now.

* * *

* * *

* * *

OUTLINE:

x sarra first appears in numair's dreams ("so... why aren't you banging my daughter?" "...what." "i mean you're in love, so" _"what."_ )  
x (dec 2nd) numair musing about how good it is/will be to see daine again after spending a month in scanra, she tacklehugs him, he has Feelings about it (searching her eyes = wondering if what sarra said had any merit + when she says she isn't moping he knows it's a big fat lie)  
x (dec 5-6th) sarra appears in numair's dreams again (talking about how in the early afternoon, daine had come by and sat on his desk while he settled back in; she mentions also that daine was moping while he was gone) and then daine wakes him up to ask for his help with mental shields while she sleeps (later, he wakes up to find out about the impromptu mating session that happened that night and goes _ah_ )  
\- (dec 11th) they go back to the tower and daine claims she wants to spend the visit at the swoop to see the kids and help with the midwinter preparations; numair figures it's some puberty thing she wants to talk to alanna about (semi-correct) and goes home alone. mopes around his house and then writes to lindhall and has to toss out several papers that are Too Telling  
\- (dec 21st) midwinter at the palace; numair gives her a book and then dances with her at the ball (he's jealous of all the young cads dancing with her and then daine tricks him into dancing with her all night) (he absolutely misses the significance of this) ("you know, this dance would be much easier with someone closer to your own height" "too bad i'm stuck with you then :D" "...")  
\- (jan 23rd) numair taking advantage of daine's absence (herding ponies with onua) to work on her birthday gift (because he missed midwinter) (it's a ring + necklace) (sarra teases him about it looking like an engagement ring no matter how he tries to disguise it and also about his Feelings, "she's _sixteen"_ "seventeen in three days!" "god, don't remind me" — "and you? _how_ old were you when you died again?" "hmmmmmmmm" (she was 30))  
\- (jan 26th) he and daine have a Moment on her birthday when he gives her her real gifts (HE!! SLIDES A RING ONTO HER FINGER!! AAAAAAA) (maybe they end up talking about daine's baggage re: marriage?)  
\- (apr 15th) numair dealing with horny mermaids and being teased by his companions, daine barely restraining herself from ogling him  
\- (apr 25th) jon asks numair if he's planning to marry daine bc he (jon) is stuck in his head (numair later has a moment of screm at sarra over that—"see? even the king agrees! :D" "thIS Isn'T a FuCKiNg JoKe")  
\- (may 1st) daine and numair stargazing during beltane (daine mentions that jon's sending her to carthak) (numair thinks about kaddar and jealousy) (sarra proves that it really _has_ been her communicating with numair all along and cheerfully tells him to pay attention to who daine's spending time with this beltane)  
\- sarra Laughing at numair and then reassures him that he's more subtle than he fears while he eats his heart out, and then daine gets back and tacklehugs him again  
\- daine confesses to numair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO this one, like daine's pov, was abandoned because it was a suuuuper early work and i really just could _not_ keep a solid grip on their voices—that, and it was waaay too big of a project for the amount of time i had. (this, also, was an attempt at filling my fic in a box assignment, and i had abooooout a month and a half to write it all.)
> 
> i told myself i'd shelve it and come back to it later, but again, my internal grasp of characterization for them (daine especially) was too weak to really work with what i had. i might come back to the concept some day, but i'd probably only keep the general structure. the whole thing would need to be deep-plumbed; i did nooooot go nearly as hard on the friends-to-lovers angle as i wanted to, and the degree of separation that left between them is... unappealing.
> 
> there's no babble at the end because that was when the friend i was spaghetti-to-the-wall brainstorming with needed a break, so preeeetty much all of my notes ended up in the outline.
> 
> the timestamps everywhere are because i really wanted the fic to happen between the month of december and slightly after beltane, and while the outsider pov is pretty forgiving about exact dates, numair's pov is one continuous story and i needed to make sure the travel times and breaks worked together and i didn't end up smushing six months into one season, lol.


	3. drunken confession fic take #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canonverse Numair ➜ Daine drunken confession. (no established relationship AU)

"You're going to be a _dolt_ about this, aren't you?"

While waking up to Daine's stunning blue-grey eyes in the morning was never an unhappy occasion, precisely, waking up to her unimpressed frown wasn't a particularly happy one either.

"Good morning to you too, magelet," Numair said, bemused. "A dolt about what, now?"

A strange expression crossed her face. "About—" She cut herself off.

Numair rubbed his head and did inventory. His thoughts were sluggish in a way that suggested he'd taken one of his own hangover potions—he must have been _really_ drunk to have thought downing one of those was a good idea—and he was still dressed in his Midsummer finery. He also seemed to have fallen asleep on his settee. Someone (Daine, most likely) had arranged pillows behind his head and pulled off his shoes, and he recognized the quilt draped over him as one retrieved from his own bed.

He had a faint suspicion that something or other had driven him to his drink. He had a much stronger suspicion that anything that had had him _wanting_ to be three sheets to the wind was something he was better off not remembering any sooner than he had to. He wasn't ordinarily fond of taking complete leave of his senses.

Sitting up, he was starting to discover that even his own potion hadn't been able to fully defeat the hangover. _Just how much did I have?_

"A fair bit too much, I'd say," said Daine in a blessed murmur. A glass of water was held in front of him. "Can you eat?"

"Goddess sent," he rasped, and took the water. "I will soon." He sent her a grateful smile. "Thank you."

Another strange look crossed her face, this one giving that soft mouth an even _more_ vulnerable slant, somehow, those velvety storm-blue eyes _endless_...

For a moment, Numair drowned.

His fingers tingled to cup her cheek and pull her in, lips tingling to feel her skin, the air suddenly heavy and syrupy-thick with the sweetness of the perfume she had worn to the festival, impressions of the brush of noses and press of foreheads floating through his mind, thoughts of the taste of _her_ mingled with soured drink on his tongue and the breath of her quiet _oh_ tattooed in every nook and cranny of his psyche...

He blinked away the startlingly vivid fantasy before he could do anything ridiculous—like attempt to act on it. "Magelet?"

The expression on her face changed again, then blanked before his groggy mind could parse it. She straightened, and he saw that she was dressed in her day clothes; evidently, she'd skipped out on the night of heavy drinking and, ergo, the morning of debilitating hangovers. "The basin is full if you want to wash up. I'm going to see to Cloud and then go to the great hall—do you want me to bring you anything?"

That was Daine: forever practical.

"What would I do without you," he half-laughed, half-sighed—then suppressed a wince as a fragment of a memory made it through the haze.

(It had been starting to sink in, perhaps, that he was going to have to figure out what to do without her soon enough. He couldn't remember the details, but for some reason, the thought of Daine no longer being with him had been realer than ever—a thought that he'd only partially drowned out in the alcohol.

No wonder he'd been drinking.)

She looked at him strangely again—carefully restrained but oddly intent. No tart reply or exasperated dismissal seemed to be forthcoming.

He summoned a smile for her. "I'll follow you in just a moment. Don't worry about it." She turned, and he found himself tacking on a, "Thank you."

She shot him a surprised glance over her shoulder.

"For everything," he elaborated. He didn't know why it was so important that she knew he was grateful (he knew exactly why it was so important that she knew), but it was important all the same.

That _finally_ got a smile. "I'm going to the stables, not Grimhold," she said, amused. A dimple appeared in her cheek. "I promised, didn't I? I won't leave. I don't break my promises."

And with that utterly baffling statement, she left.

* * *

He thought about it as he washed up, shaved, and got dressed, and eventually came to the conclusion that he must have been moping while entirely too drunk and asked (begged, more likely) her to stay.

It was a humiliating thought, but it was the best guess he had at the moment. He'd have to have a talk with her about making promises to drunken men—and, most pressingly, why she _shouldn't,_ no matter how much she may love them.

The braids he'd worked into his horsetail for the occasion seemed to have come undone along with the horsetail itself, so it was a somewhat tangled shaggy mane that greeted him in the mirror. For once too tired to go through a whole regime, he combed it out, worked a moisturizer through the locks, rinsed them clean, then patted away the excess water so they could dry on their own.

(Odd, he thought, that the braids had come so thoroughly undone. Even drunk and moping, it would be unlike him to unravel them on his own, rather than just ignore them until they frayed.)

He made it down to the great hall eventually, and found Alanna and Onua already there, both of them very much looking like they'd gotten on the wrong side of their cups.

Alanna scowled at him when he sat across from her with his breakfast. "Those who drank as much as _you_ did have no business..." She searched for what people who'd drunk as much as he had had no business with, gave up, and rubbed her forehead. "No business."

"Eloquent," Onua muttered, contemplating her tea with a wry look.

"Shut up."

Numair pulled out his pocket knife and began hulling the strawberries on his plate. To Alanna, he said, "Shouldn't _you_ have _some_ business? I'd have thought you would at least spare yourself the hangover."

"George said I should pay for my sins," she grumbled. Her rolls and cheese had been lightly nibbled, and she appeared to have forgone the assortment of seasonal fruit available in the kitchens entirely. "Can't remember for the life of me why I agreed."

He glanced at Onua, who only had the teacup, no plate in sight.

She shrugged and smiled faintly. "I'm not that badly off. Didn't want to waste the potion."

He nodded and set aside his pocket knife, having run out of strawberries to hull, then ripped the roll in half and took a bite.

Daine, smelling of hay and horse, appeared by his elbow and took the seat beside him, her thin shoulder bumping his companionably.

He passed her the plate he'd brought, taking his own share (half of the roll, half the cheese, and all of the jerky) off of it as he did so, and she accepted it automatically—then froze and flushed.

He glanced at her in concern.

Her gaze was fixed on the contents of the plate.

Said plate held what he was pretty sure she'd have gotten for herself—the other half roll, cheese, the hulled strawberries, a share of the leftovers that were too rich for the rest of them at the moment—and why on earth that would earn a blush, he wasn't sure.

"...Did I get it wrong?" he wondered.

"Huh? No." Daine settled and shook off whatever was bothering her and flashed him a soft smile that had his heart beating out of rhythm for a moment. "Thanks."

Onua was watching this exchange with her eyebrows raised. "He knows your order," she noted.

Daine speared one of the strawberries, popped it into her mouth, and didn't reply.

(Her cheeks were turning a fetching shade of pink again, and it drew attention to how those long, thick 'lashes brushed them when she blinked. Numair looked away before he started to stare.)

Breakfast passed in relative silence until Alanna broke it with, "So, why _are_ you alive, Numair? I expected to have to give you a healing to make sure you didn't die of alcohol poisoning with how you were enjoying the festivities."

"You might've had to," he said ruefully after swallowing a mouthful of jerky. "I took one of my own potions and even _that_ didn't do the job."

"Your own!" Onua said, impressed and laughing. "Now you won't even remember the fun!"

He made a face. From what he _did_ remember, he was fairly certain he was better off oblivious.

Daine had frozen, face blank and another strawberry halfway to her mouth. "What?"

"This man—" And Onua raised her eyebrows at him as she drolly toasted him with her teacup. "—is incapable of making a normal potion. His hangover cures may raise the dead, but good luck getting the dead to remember anything that happened the night before."

"The last thing I can remember was Sarge critiquing the Riders' charms," he said, poking around his brain for things that didn't give him a warning twinge of heartache. "I wasn't nearby, but I could hear him clear across the grounds."

Daine very carefully put down her strawberry. "Oh."

He'd been willing to wait and see what had been making her act so odd throughout the morning, but the way she'd gone white as a sheet at this new information was... concerning.

Alanna snorted before he could speak up, gesturing with her half-eaten roll. "You missed the best part—they made him wear all the failed ones, all at once. People were stealing kisses from him all night."

"I'm not sure I've ever seen him that flustered," Onua said with a fond grin.

"That was early on, too," said Alanna, tearing off another hunk of bread with her teeth. Then she choked, coughing into her fist and snickering. "That means you don't remember complimenting Daine!"

It was Numair's turn to freeze. "...Pardon?"

Between his inappropriate affections and the amount of drink that had been in his system, he _highly doubted_ that had gone anywhere good.

Onua also pressed a fist to her mouth, her shoulders shaking and her eyes dancing in mirth.

Numair eyed both women he _generally_ counted among his most trusted friends with mounting trepidation. He supposed that if they were only laughing at him, he hadn't crossed a line—gods knew they wouldn't hesitate to gut him if he'd done anything untoward—but the laughter wasn't particularly promising.

"You were moping something fierce," Onua explained, voice thick and cracking as her lips twitched uncontrollably, "and Daine here couldn't find you for hours. Finally she caught you—in full view of the rest of us, mind; Alanna, George, Thayet, Daine's parents and me—and wanted to know why you were avoiding her."

Listening to this felt a bit like watching a raging bull charge down a village road. Inevitable, hypnotic, entrancing _disaster._

"What was it you said?" said Alanna, still grinning. _"'You're much too pretty'_ —or something like that?"

(Uncomfortably telling, but not as bad as it could have been, he supposed.)

Onua was losing her fight against her laughter at the memory, but still managed to choke out, "I wish you'd _seen_ her _face._ You turned around and left right then, but the _look_ —"

Alanna wasn't much better off. "She took off her cloak and started pulling the combs out of her hair, saying, _'How did anyone talk me into this?! I knew it was a bad idea, I knew'_—and Thayet just _shrieks."_

 _"'No!'"_ Onua quoted, snorting inelegantly.

"I think Daine's mother forgot she could teleport," Alanna confided. "She _lunged_ —" She gestured. "—across the yard, and she and Thayet both started wrestling with Daine, yelling about how long it took to fix her up like that and _don't she dare,_ and she shouted at them to _let her go, let her change, she never wanted this!_ I think her mother eventually used godly magics to keep her hair and clothes in place."

"She did," Onua confirmed, croaking. She tamped down on the laughter to add, "It went away after midnight struck and her parents went back home. Then Daine _finally_ got her breeches back, poor girl..." Onua trailed off, her amusement hitting a half-state as she glanced at the 'poor girl' seated at Numair's side. "Daine?"

Instead of the red-faced mortified humor he'd expected, he found that the color still hadn't returned to Daine's face. Her eyes were fixed in a thousand-yard stare.

She jolted when she realized they were all looking at her.

"Daine?" Alanna tried, worried.

Daine glanced between her and Onua, more devoid of expression than he'd ever seen her, and then fixed those eyes on him.

He didn't drown this time. Anything she might have felt was kept behind lock and key.

"...Daine?" he asked cautiously.

There was another beat as she seemed to try to stare into his soul, and then she nodded, looking dazed. "I... think I forgot to lock Cloud's door," she said distantly. "I'm going to check on that."

Then she stood abruptly, stepped over the bench, and walked away with a very controlled sort of calm.

Fearing the answer but _needing_ to know, he asked the other two, "What... did I do?"

He saw Alanna shake her head, baffled, in his peripheral vision, and sensed that Onua was shrugging. As one, they watched as Daine crossed the threshold and took a sharp turn towards the stables.

Numair turned back to the table and traded bewildered looks with the other two.

There were three beats of silence as they all tried to figure out what had just happened—

And then every animal in the room went _mad._

Cats yowled and tore off in every direction, mice squealed and pattered, and dogs started up a deafening _din_ of baying and barking. Birds screeched and took off in droves, and the shouting outside suggested that the horses had been affected as well.

The worst of the discord lasted less than ten seconds. Then the animals began to calm again, disturbed and restless but otherwise no worse for wear.

Numair was left staring at his two friends, mouth caught open in an aborted attempt to find something to say, and they were left boggling right back at him.

"Horse lords," Onua said in a stage whisper. "What did you _do?"_

Suddenly, Numair _really_ wished he knew.

* * *

Daine wasn't avoiding Numair, really. She just didn't have much business spending time in his quarters, or the library, or the great hall, or the stables, or the rookery, or the kennels, or the Rider's barracks, or the trails, or the page's wing, or anywhere else he'd think to look for her, really. If she never saw him any closer than across a courtyard, then, well...

She just... needed a little space to breathe.

Instead, she spent some time as a chipmunk, nibbling her way through a large number of seeds stolen from two-leggers, and then some more time as a marten, hunting frogs to the best of her ability, and then a little more time as a wolf, canvassing the outermost reaches of the Royal Forest.

( _All that_ and he _didn't remember._ )

Cloud didn't say anything, oddly enough. Zek was sympathetic, if confused. She avoided Spots and Mangle almost as hard as she... _wasn't_ avoiding Numair himself. Her other friends offered their comfort, though none of them really knew what to do with the mess in her head—and she didn't blame them, because she didn't know what to do about it either.

It was a testament to how wrong-footed she was that she barely noticed time passing until Onua cornered her in her room, looking both grave and humorous.

"Alright, young miss," she said, hands on hips. Daine rarely heard that tone outside of Rider training. "It's been three days and you won't even let Numair close enough to apologize. What happened."

Daine found something on the other side of her room to tidy so Onua wouldn't see her face.

What _had_ happened?

(Naked adoration in his eyes and kisses soft enough to melt; sweet whispers too heartfelt to be nothings; a charm clutched in her palm with the realization that she neither wanted nor needed what it could tell her.)

"He remembered?" she asked, mostly steady. It hurt to think he'd want to apologize for what he'd said, but she wouldn't be surprised. He had hangups in the oddest places sometimes.

"No."

Daine let out the breath she didn't know she was holding.

"And I'm holding off on castrating him until I make sure he deserves it."

Daine choked on the inhale.

She whipped around to stare at her second-oldest friend in horror, and she wasn't sure what her face looked like, but it was enough to get the woman to raise her hands in defense.

"Kidding."

Daine breathed a sigh of relief and went back to her trunk.

"Mostly," Onua added under her breath once Daine's back was turned. Daine shot her a dour look over her shoulder, and Onua affected innocence.

"No carving, please," Daine said, rifling through her clothes and not seeing any of them. She wouldn't much like to find that Numair had been mutilated because she couldn't get up the courage to face him for a few days. "I _like_ him all in one piece."

"So he didn't do anything— _untoward_ —to you?"

 _Untoward by whose call?_ Daine felt herself blush again. "No, mum."

"Then why the..." Onua searched for a word. "...running?"

"I'm _not_ running!" Daine protested, despite knowing full well that she was running. "I just..."

Onua waited a moment, then said, gentler, "I swear I won't tell if you don't want anyone to know, but I'm worried."

"Good thing there's nothing to worry about, then," said Daine tartly, though it came out weaker than she wanted it to. "We just..." She wrestled with honestly and awkwardness both. "...talked."

"Talked," Onua repeated, taking a seat on the bed. "About?"

About _I want forever with you, but I can't ever ask it,_ and _sometimes you_ terrify _me; did you know that?_ and _you can go, I can't stop you, but please, please don't leave. Not for good. Not forever._

You could light kindling on Daine's face. "Things."

Onua considered this, then sighed. "Listen, drunken men... say 'things' sometimes. And Numair is a good sort, but I've never seen him quite _that_ drunk. I hate to think he would have said anything like that to _you,_ but I don't think he could tell Tahoi apart from the ponies by the end of the night. Anything he said should probably be taken with a grain of salt... and maybe a few good kicks to the shins. Or the nads."

Daine opened her mouth to retort that she knew a randy drunk when she saw one, thank you kindly, and then realized that Onua was giving her an out, intentionally or otherwise. Eventually, she settled on, "...Maybe... maybe he was drunker than I thought. It's just awkward, being the only one who remembers."

Onua grunted and rustled Daine's blankets as she levered herself up again, then took the two steps she needed to reach Daine and sling an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. Daine leaned into the hug, cheeks still warm.

"It's easy to forget you're still a teenager sometimes," the older woman said sympathetically. "You always take things in stride."

Daine rather thought that age had nothing to do with being unbalanced when your best friend confessed to his undying love for you and then promptly forgot the next morning because of a hangover potion administered to him yourself, completely oblivious to the side effects, but decided against saying anything. Onua thinking she was young and silly was preferable to trying to recount... _that._

"Well, I won't rush you, but you _did_ arrange to go with him and Alanna when they return to the Swoop next week—" Ah. Right. She had been going to stay at the tower, hadn't she. "—so you might want to discuss that with them soon enough."

(The worst part was that she probably _would_ have dismissed it as drunken rambling—or, at least, would have tried to—if not for the way he _looked_ at her. If not for the way he cared for her. If not for the way he reacted to things when she was involved. If not for the way everything made so much more _sense_ if she stopped looking at his actions through the lens of 'protective best friend' and started looking through the lens of 'a man in love'.)

"I will," she promised, and Onua kissed the crown of her head.

"And I promise to leave Numair uncarved, but talk to him at some point, yeah? I think at this point he'll grovel if you want. He's been eating himself alive."

Somewhat belatedly, it occurred to Daine that having someone you— _loved_ (were _in love_ with) avoid you for reasons suspect-but-unknown would be fair upsetting. Possibly as upsetting as being the only one who remembered a love confession. Possibly moreso.

She looked away so her friend wouldn't see her chagrin. "I'll talk to him, I promise."

"Good." Onua rubbed Daine's bicep, then let go and turned to the door. "That settled, I think it's time for bed."

"Goodnight," Daine bid her as the door was opened.

"And a good night to you too."

* * *

Onua came to Numair on the fourth day after Midsummer.

"She insists that all the two of you did was talk, though she refused to say about what," she told him with a shrug. Her smile was more sympathetic than he probably deserved. "She doesn't seem to hold it against you, at any rate. Don't worry about it so much."

Small mercies, Numair supposed.

Alanna, too, was more sympathetic than he deserved.

"I'll make sure she knows she can stay with me when we head back, if she wants," she'd said on the second day, then, seeing his face, she elbowed him gently. "Oh, buck up. You two are attached at the hip. It would take more than a drunken mishap or two to get between you for long."

Which would be a comfort if only he couldn't think of a dozen things he could have said or done that would have crossed that line.

(It was one thing to tell Daine she was pretty; it was something else entirely to confess that the sight of her collarbones made his mouth go dry, or, gods forbid, actually _try to taste them_ —which was an urge he spent entirely too much time battling.)

Even Jon was proving much too forgiving.

"Numair," his sovereign said on the third day, amused, as he looked over the research Numair had collected for him, "you spent a good fifteen minutes hugging me and crying over how grateful you were that I'd granted you asylum—and then spent another half hour on how great I was for teaching you a few spells. Five gold nobles says you said something sentimental to her and she's upset that you forgot."

Numair felt a blush burn his cheeks. "What you taught me was hardly just 'a few spells'," he protested, but couldn't argue Jon's main point without revealing a lot of things best left entirely unacknowledged.

Catastrophizing aside, Daine didn't fluster easily. That she was avoiding him at all would have been worrying in itself, but the few times he'd reached out his senses to find her, she'd been haunting the farthest reaches of the Royal Forest. She couldn't have been clearer about not wanting to be found if she'd hung a sign on her door. You didn't avoid someone _that_ thoroughly over a bit of forgotten sentimentality.

And then she turned up at his door with lunch for the both of them, only a few hours after he talked to Onua.

She offered no explanations and, while he was pretty sure they should talk about what had happened at some point, he was too happy to have her back to press for them just yet.

* * *

* * *

* * *

OUTLINE/ADDITIONAL NOTES/BRAINSTORMING:

\- (this is a midsummer festival 1yr after rotg, in an au where they never got together and daine doesn't know about the focus)   
\- first numair is Sulking and Drunk ( ~~because reasons related to daine, haven't decided yet~~ ) [NEW NOTE: i eventually decided that it was going to be because sarra was reeeeally pushing daine to figure out her feelings/get into a relationship ~~with numair~~ , and numair was close enough to see the gossiping but not close enough to hear the details]  
\- he's avoiding daine Hardcore because of those reasons   
\- she's kinda baffled and :( about being avoided, but not really think much of it bc it's a party and it's less noticeable than it could be   
\- and he finally comes in contact with daine   
\- and she's like "why are you avoiding me???"   
\- and he just looks at her VERY sad and goes "you are much too pretty magelet" and then turns around and mopes away   
\- and she's _WTAF_ and also blushing and yet still more WTAF   
\- _numair what the actual fuck r u ok_   
\- and idk at the end of the night she's still sort of baffled but mostly over it (numair's being weird and she'll get the story later, whatevs)   
\- and she helps him back to his rooms   
\- and he ends up being a cuddlebug who just. won't let her go.   
\- and they end up talking?   
\- idk i'm imagining like... "you are beyond everything i've ever known and i have no idea what i'd do if i didn't have you anymore, please don't leave me" and "i want forever, but you're 17, you don't know what you want forever" ("i know my own mind _tyvm"_ "yeah but do u know if you want to get married?" "......." "exactly")   
\- and then he wakes up and remembers NONE of that and daine is....   
\- i have no idea how daine is

\- numair wakes up, daine is acting odd   
\- they go to breakfast where daine finds out that numair can't remember anything from the night before and she bolt and _**SCREM**_   
\- numair is Panik and tries to figure out what the hell he _did_ while daine avoids him for a few days, and then she slowly stops avoiding him but flusters/tenses up when he touches her and he's like "awwww fuck" but things smooth out after that as she relaxes and more or less go back to normal   
\- and then about a... month? after the incident, daine suuuuuper casually brings up Marriage in that convo that i sent last night(1), and idk it ends with daine going "idk if marriage but i'd sure like to kiss you again" _" **agAIN?** "  
\- _and then there'd be a ch2 with the drunken confession itself

(1)  
\- they're on horseback almost back to the tower when daine brings up marriage and tries to get a sense of how he feels about it Really and sorta sidesteps over the fact that ~a mysterious someone~ asked her to marry them  
\- and numair grits his teeth but still gives her a fairly thoughtful/fair answer and they discuss it like unattached people except for the fact that daine is watching him really really reaLLY closely (and maybe going all soft and gooey at some of the things he says)  
\- and then they get back to the tower  
\- and daine waits until numair's about to get off his horse to go "by the way he was you"  
\- "what?"  
\- "the man who asked me to marry him. that was you."  
\- and numair loses his grip and gets tangled in the stirrups and goes down like a ton of bricks  
\- and she goes to laugh at him and help him up and he's like "no i need a minute ty"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another attempt at fulfilling my assignment for fic in a box! eventually decided that i was skimming too close to 'plot based in miscommunication' (my recip listed that as something they didn't want) and abandoned it (STILL telling myself i'd come back to it later, but nahhhhhhh). some of the lines make me swoon still, ngl, but daine. daaaaaine. _daaaaaaaaaaaine._
> 
> she speaks!! a little bit. and she wasn't... _terribly_ characterized, but she still wasn't Daine™. i was working on it!
> 
> for some reason, numair's confession was inspired by the slowed version of 'hot girl bummer' by blackbear ([link](https://youtu.be/ZUHh2PU3Lao)), which, to the normal, average ear, sounds like a hot and heavy toxic summer full of thirst and drugs, but to me apparently spoke of wizards telling their apprentices that they want to marry them. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> there was another drunk confession fic between this one and the one that actually got completed and posted ([How You Always Get the Best of Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940379), a modern AU numair ➜ daine drunken confession), but it's still workable and not jarringly ooc, so i'm not quiiiite giving up on that one yet. rewriting, yes, buuuut the structure still works. now that i'm absolutely sure i won't give it as a gift, i think i can lean into the 'uhhh' aspects more and make it more cohesive.


	4. arranged marriage AU take #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Numair is arranged to marry a Gallan noble for political relations reasons, and instead of the lady they said they'd send, they send country bumpkin bastard child Daine. (canonverse AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another attempt at filling my fic in a box assignment. it was slightly more doomed than the others.

When Jon had finally pushed Numair into accepting a political marriage, the description of his future bride had resembled the ladies he tended to favor—blonde and full-figured, good-natured and patient, with a fondness for homemaking.

(Not Varice, never Varice. He knew exactly what sort of void he was trying to fill with all these new friends, and none of them were _right._ None of them would ever be right, he knew, because a friend and lover like Varice wasn't someone you found twice in a lifetime, but they reminded him of her, and often, that was enough.)

His bride was Vienne of Dusan, a Gallan noblewoman of twenty five years, the second child but first daughter of the Duke of Dusan. She would be a strong tie to Galla and a good match for someone as powerful and eccentric as Numair, or so it was decided.

Numair himself had... _mixed_ feelings on the whole affair. Tortall needed this tie to Galla desperately, which was why he'd agreed, but he wasn't looking forward to marrying a stranger. She didn't sound like a bad sort, but 'not a bad sort' wasn't exactly how he wanted to feel about a woman he'd spend the rest of his life with.

Luckily for him, Vienne of Dusan was not the bride the Gallan delegation delivered to Corus.

Instead, they brought Veralidaine Sarrasri, Vienne's step-sister.

Veralidaine was lithe, with clear, piercing blue-grey eyes and a barely-tamed mass of chestnut curls. The definition of her arms said that she was used to drawing a bow, and grace she had was the rough grace of someone who needed to know where her feet were, not the satin grace of a finishing school or convent. The set of her chin said she was stubborn, the set of her mouth said she was vulnerable, and the face they were set in was as serious as it was striking.

She couldn't have been a day over sixteen.

It was an insult, and everyone knew it. Veralidaine wasn't the Duke's child. According to Gallan law, Veralidaine wasn't anyone's child. Veralidaine was the bastard of a minor noblewoman who'd married high above her station.

Numair had known that their relations with Galla were bad, but he hadn't known they were _this_ bad.

"We can't accept this," Jon sighed, rubbing his face. He, Thayet, Alanna, and Numair were conferring Jon's study, away from the festivities of the upcoming wedding. "They knew exactly what they were doing in sending her."

Alanna scowled, hand on the pommel of her ornamental sword. "Wish I knew what _we_ could do. You'd think they don't actually want our countries to be on good terms, with... this."

"She's technically of legal age," Thayet pointed out. She didn't sound happy about it. "And technically the Duke's daughter—in writing, anyway. He adopted her right before he sent her. We don't have any legal excuses to turn her away, and anything less means they can point fingers."

Numair hadn't been able to talk to his betrothed yet, but he thought back to what he'd seen of her during the opening banquet. She had looked lonely and shy, certainly, but less resentful than he would have guessed. Unhappy but... pragmatic, somehow. Responsible. He would have expected a girl of sixteen to be angrier, but she had forced a smile and nodded along with the small talk, holding the correct spoon like it was a foreign object. He had to respect that.

He voiced the concern that had been itching at him as soon as he realized that they really couldn't ( _shouldn't_ ) go through with the marriage: "...What happens to her if we send her back?"

All three of his companions looked vaguely uncomfortable. They knew as well as he did that it was unlikely to end well. A bastard adopted solely for the purpose of making her a legal marriage candidate... he doubted her fate would be gruesome, but it was highly unlikely to be _happy,_ either.

"You know," he remarked idly, "they didn't send who they said they were sending, and I'm not sure I'm really ready to accept a marriage to this new mistress."

Alanna raised her eyebrows at him, mouth pulled to the side in a droll look.

Numair smiled faintly. "I think I'd like to get to know her before I decide if she's someone I truly want to marry. It wouldn't do to accept too hastily."

Thayet looked thoughtful while Alanna nodded decisively. Jon just smiled back, wry. "And the rest of us will see if we can't get the two of you out of this yet," he promised.

Numair bowed his thanks in true Player fashion, and earned two more wry, tired smiles for his trouble. "Then I suppose I shall go entertain the lady of the hour. She seemed like she could use a rescue."

"Good luck," Alanna bid him.

Numair wondered if he'd need it.

* * *

Unfortunately for all involved, Numair liked Veralidaine immediately.

By the end of their first day together, she'd made him laugh aloud thrice, and he hadn't let the smile on her otherwise-somber face leave for long. He'd juggled to her mock exasperation and ill-hidden delight, and she'd convinced a woodchuck to sit on his knee and eat from his palms.

He'd been right about her pragmatism. She had a kind of poise and restraint that had nothing to do with courtly wiles, a fearlessness he envied, and a dry, practical humor that tickled him to no end.

And it wasn't one-sided, either.

She smiled at the jokes he made for her, but outright grinned at the comments he made for himself, bouncing off his humor with aplomb. She made him stop and explain—seeming genuinely _curious_ —when he started to wander into academia. She never put on airs, and those eyes never seemed to see anything but _him._

By the end of the week, his impression was that she was uneducated but clever, soft-hearted but tough, practical but vulnerable, and he felt like he'd known her for years.

(And he was just... going to ignore the way his pulse skipped and thumped at some of those smiles. She was a striking girl, but he was a little too old to be losing himself in her eyes, especially when she trusted him so implicitly.)

* * *

* * *

* * *

OUTLINE/ADDITIONAL NOTES/BRAINSTORMING:

\- ?????????????????

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and THAT'S why this one failed. i had No idea where it was going or where it needed to go or how it should end.
> 
> that, and i was... kinda trying to go for the more _ech_ aspects of the age gap and squicking myself out because i was still in the midst of figuring out where the balance was. conclusion: More, and yet Less. no, i will not be elaborating.
> 
> those two, _and_ i just... had no idea... how to characterize daine. she doesn't have any speaking lines at all here because for the life of me i couldn't figure out how she _spoke_. it was after this that i really started talking to the brainstorming buddy who a) drew a bust of daine and got me to actually picture her in my head and b) started snowballing ideas with me, both of which helped immeeeensely.
> 
> a shoutout to jumpingjackflash and his fic, [General Vantas Gets Hitched, or, The Limits Of Bilateral Diplomacy: A Black Powder Romance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/360877), which introduced me to the wonderfulamazingFANTASTIC idea of country A sending country B a blatantly unsuitable marriage partner as a middle finger to the concept of 'peace'. i've been in love with the idea ever since i read this fic and have been trying to figure out a ship for it and a setting for it and THEN THERE WAS TORTALL AND DAINE/NUMAIR AND IT WAS PERF. i'm still trying to work it into take #3 (not yet in a publishable state) but this is the first attempt.


	5. arranged marriage AU take #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Numair takes a stroll during the party that would introduce him to his new fiancee, Princess Veralidaine, and meets a homesick girl having a crisis of faith. Meanwhile, Daine accidentally administers a secret test of character. (Canonverse AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Quest for the Fic in a Box Assignment Fill goes on! this one was much less doomed, comparatively, but still failed in the end.
> 
> (also, apologies for the update spam. i keep getting about halfway through typing up my thoughts on the current fic when ao3 sends the emails for the last chapter OTL)

If you had told Daine a week ago that she was a princess, she'd have told you to save the sweet talk and come back when you needed game meat.

(Someone had, in fact, told Daine last week that she was a princess, and had indeed been told to save the sweet talk and come back when he needed game meat.)

It was rather different to hear it from a stern-eyed knight that served King Weiryn himself than it was to to hear it from an overeager swain, though, so she was inclined to believe it this time—especially since a royal writ had her packing up and saying goodbye to her friends and apologizing to Hakkon, the falconer who'd hired her on despite her bastard status and absent mother.

Only, it seemed that she wasn't a bastard after all, and her mother and father were _the king and queen of all of Galla._

Two weeks later found her in the royal castle in Cría, having somewhat awkward conversations with her estranged parents and being subjected to a torrent of lessons in everything from court manners to dancing to high literature.

Apparently, she'd been hidden away as a safety measure, because the competition for the throne was savage and any blood child of Weiryn's would likely be the first to go. Now, the competition was still going on, but Galla desperately needed to make amends with Tortall, and while the Tortallian royal children themselves were too young for the king and queen to consider marrying off, the king's favored sorcerer, Numair Salmalín, was both very (very, _very_ ) powerful and currently unwed.

So Daine was to marry him.

She thought that she might have thoughts on this matter if she'd had the time to so much as yawn since hearing the news, but she had a month and a half to be made presentable, and her upbringing as a fatherless _and_ motherless child in a tiny mountain village had left her woefully unprepared.

It was only once she was riding south in a too-fine carriage and talking to every woodland critter along the way to ease the mind-numbing boredom that it finally occurred to her that Veralidaine Sarrasri— _Weirynsra,_ Weirynsra was her surname now... apparently (gods, _that was the name of the king_ )—was about to become Veralidaine Salmalín.

That, she decided, was far too many names for any girl to have before she turned seventeen.

Well. Her new husband had a reputation of being fair strange (that seemed like a laughable descriptor to apply to one of the most powerful mages in the world), but nobody seemed to think he was temperamental or cruel.

Gods willing, she would be alright.

If she wasn't... well.

Well...

She hugged the marten in her lap and tried not to think about it.

* * *

Numair was reaching that stage at a party where 'wishing he could escape' was starting to turn into _'going_ to escape'.

It was the welcoming celebration for the Gallan delegation—the very one that was delivering his future bride—and the subject of the gathering was uncomfortable enough that he was hitting the point of escape much sooner than normal.

The other star of the show, Veralidaine Weirynsra, had declared that she would rather rest in her rooms after her long journey than join the festivities, and Numair wished he could have used the same excuse.

He wasn't particularly looking forward to marrying a stranger, truth be told. Political relations were strained enough that Tortall _needed_ this tie to Galla, which was why he'd agreed when Jon had asked, but personally... He never thought he'd have to marry for politics. He was finding the prospect even less pleasant than he'd thought he would.

(It didn't help that the princess was a teenager, and it didn't help that she'd been raised so far out of the public eye that nobody really knew what she was like; they'd gone through the rigamarole to ensure that she actually was the daughter of King Weiryn and his wife (she was) and not a spy (she wasn't), but beyond that, _everyone_ was going in blind.

It _did_ help that they weren't required to produce an heir if they didn't want to, and it _did_ help that she'd been raised poor; commoners tended to have a much firmer grasp on practicality than nobles.)

Two hours in, and Numair decided that enough was enough, and if Jon was disappointed in him for escaping, that was just the price he'd have to pay.

He took the outer passages, the ones that followed the palace walls, knowing that they'd be much quieter than the inner ones when there was a party to serve. There was a particular one that wound around the guest wing, and the windows let you see all the way out to the forest.

He meandered through it, just enjoying the chill in the air, listening to the distant chatter of the festivities and... the sound of muffled crying?

He was nearing the end of the passage when he heard it. This particular passage ended in a sitting room that was only slightly wider and deeper than the passage itself, and both were almost universally forgotten. It was his favorite escape during times like these precisely because of how forgotten they were.

This time, someone was already there.

It was dark, but he could make out a girl was sitting against the wall next to the window, knees pulled up to her chest and face buried in her arms. It was hard to tell her height from here, but her build was slender and she had a truly impressive mass of dark curls. Booted feet led up to dark leggings, covered by a steel colored knee-length dress of a rougher make than he usually saw around here.

Whoever she was, she seemed to have made fast friends with two of the kitchen mousers—both felines looked terribly concerned, the more social of the pair pawing at her arm and trying to sniff her face.

He was just trying to decide whether to leave or stay when the more distant one mewed sharply.

The girl jerked her head up with a wet gasp, then found Numair.

It was too dark to see her clearly, but the hunted-deer look she fixed him with was unmistakable.

"Hello," he greeted her softly, feeling very much like he was speaking to an actual deer. Careful to make no sudden movements, he fished around his pockets for his handkerchief and added, "Is everything alright? Your friends seem concerned."

Basic manners demanded that she take the handkerchief, though she seemed reluctant to use it. She fiddled with it for a few seconds, then forced out, "Just... a bit of homesickness, sir. I'll be right as rain soon enough."

"Homesickness?" he prompted, turning to light the sconces with a flick of his fingers. He didn't need the gesture, but his companion seemed so thoroughly spooked already that inexplicable spontaneous lighting didn't seem like a good idea at the moment. "Where are you from?"

She sniffled. "Galla, sir."

He smiled over his shoulder, saying, "You're far from home," and then actually _saw_ the girl fully illuminated, and felt his breath catch.

She was _striking._

She was too young for him, certainly, and a commoner or servant besides, but—long, thick, dark eyelashes framing magnetic blue-gray eyes, a soft mouth and a stubborn chin, a face so lovely she was probably sending away admirers in droves. He would've had trouble stringing together a sentence around her if he'd been about a decade younger.

She wasn't looking at him and so missed his double-take, thankfully. Instead, she was mopping her tears and letting the more social of the cats, a gray tabby, clamber into her lap, while the white longhair headbutted her side and twined around her legs. Both were purring loudly.

She scratched the tabby behind the ears and rasped, "'S not so bad. Just been a while, is all. Moving's been troublesome."

Numair sat down against the wall opposite her, choosing the floor over the seating and folding his legs tailor style. "Oh?"

She sniffled again, rubbing at the corner of her eye, and then glanced up and did a double-take of her own—though hers was more terrified than admiring.

He smiled faintly, and made a show of searching his pockets for something. He made sure not to glance at her more than passingly, and slowly she relaxed under the lack of attention.

"We had to pack up quick," she said eventually. "Da wanted us out quick as a flash. Barely got to say our farewells. Didn't have much to take with me, so that was easy, at least. That was three months ago. It feels like I've been on the road ever since."

"Journeys that long are rarely pleasant," he said sympathetically, still searching his pockets.

"And Corus—" Her voice cracked, and she blinked rapidly. "Fine enough for the people who like it, but—" She blinked harder, curling around the tabby and burying the fingers of her right hand in the longhair's fur. "Even _Cría_ had more trees."

They'd taken her around the front way then, he gathered. He smiled at her again, and when he caught her eye, he nodded towards the window next to her. "It's not the same as living outside the city, but for what it's worth, the Royal Forest is right behind you."

She twisted around to look, dislodging the tabby. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered, clearing away tears. "But—" Her voice cracked again, and she cleared her throat, then sat back against the wall. Wide, tentatively hopeful blue-gray eyes fixed on him as the tabby re-situated itself. "But doesn't it belong to the king?"

"The Royal Forest?" He pulled an etched wooden ball out of his robe and set it next to him. "It belongs to the crown, technically."

She glanced towards it wistfully, careful of the cat this time.

"If you come by the lower gate, it's not strictly guarded," he offered, inspecting the vial he'd just pulled out of the same pocket and found that it was wakeflower. Surprisingly useful to have on hand, that stuff. He put it back and kept up his search. "As long as you're in the village before the noon bell, you're home free."

The girl stared at him.

He made the mistake of looking back, and then had to break the staring contest before he completely forgot how to breathe. Bluebell and silver were a potent combination.

"Are you sure you should be telling that to a stranger, sir?" she asked finally, baffled but charmed. It was the farthest from tears she'd been yet. "I could be anyone!"

He pulled out a good-sized chunk of lapis lazuli and inspected it in relation to her face. The shade didn't suit her, but it was close enough in weight and size to the ball that he set it aside too. "Not much you could do from the forest really—not as one person, and more will attract attention. The palace itself is far better guarded."

The smile on her face was melancholy, but it suited her. Gazing out into the moonlit green, she said, "I think if I go in, I mightn't ever come out again."

"Hm?"

"I might just... run away," she murmured, and the white longhair interjected a, _prrrreow?_

Numair considered this, a sealed inkwell in his palm. "Would that be so bad?" he questioned softly.

The girl _boggled_ at him.

He shrugged and put the inkwell back in its pocket, biting the corner of his mouth so he wouldn't smile. He knew his amusement was showing anyway. "Would it?"

"Sir," she said with great care, "are you... _encouraging_ me to run away?"

Oh, she was _cute._

Numair hummed low in his throat, only barely managing to suppress the laughter that wanted to accompany it. He pulled out a lump of resin that was roughly the size of the lapis lazuli and wooden ball, but kept his eyes on her. "I might be."

Her expression flickered through several emotions that passed too quick to name, though incredulity was prominent throughout. "I—" she blurted, then stopped, her brow knitting. The tabby sniffed her chin, and she scratched under its.

Numair waited.

With more deliberation, she glanced up at him and said, "I can't run away."

"Why not?"

"What do you _mean,_ 'why not'?" Evidently, to her the answer was obvious.

"Do you have a slave collar?" he asked, despite having a full view of a very pretty throat. "Do you have a mage mark? Anything else that will kill you if you step out of bounds?"

Her mouth hung open silently.

"I can remove it for you if you do," he offered, starting to toss the lump of resin up and down in his right hand, then thought about that statement and snatched the resin out of the air with a swipe. "Well, probably. I can hardly claim to know every bit of magic out there."

"I... I don't believe I do, sir."

He looked her in the eye and only felt a little breathless for his trouble. "Then what's stopping you?"

She inhaled sharply, about to protest, then slumped. Stroking the white longhair from head to mid-back, she said, "It's not really up to me. The job I have to do is... it's important. And I'm already here, aren't I?"

"Why wouldn't it be up to you?" He started tossing and catching the resin again. "You're the one doing it."

Her smile wasn't a happy one. "There'd be _big_ trouble if I skipped out."

He was willing to take that at face value, but not _quite_ so much face value as to not ask, "What would happen if you left?"

[A/N: this is where it turns into a conversation sketch]

dunno

....you _wanted_ to run away. i wouldn't be saying this if you didn't.

..........i....

i ran away once.

what?

only once. best decision i ever made.

...oh.

so.... what's there to lose?

besides everything?

yep.

I....

obviously you're miserable. what's here for you?

i.... don't break my promises

was this _your_ promise tho?

????

it sounds like your parents made it for you. did _you_ ever promise you'd do it?

.........no.

so?

...........

well, think about it. was this your card? [numair's been doing card tricks for her]

[conversation beat]

.....i used to work for a falconer. i miss the hawks. i had to leave my pony back in my village and i miss her too. i don't miss the village much—they thought i was a bastard and never treated me very well—but i... made friends with the local wolf pack

i could put a good word in for you with the stables or falconers here if you wanted to apprentice... if you have time. (or if you wanted to run away)

...i won't, i don't think, but thank you

let me know if that changes

i will

ever played gin rummy?

???? nosir

[CARDS]

* * *

[A/N: this scene is missing a beginning]

"So? Have you thought any more about it? Whether you'll run away?"

She locked eyes with him as she took his hand, her palm work-roughened and small, her bluebell-and-silver gaze hypnotic enough to swallow the room—and then smiled.

His heart gave one painfully emphatic _thump._

"I won't run," she said, quiet and sure, and squeezed his hand. The way she was looking at him was sending a storm of butterflies through his stomach. "Thank you—Master Salmalín."

"Well, that's one you have over me," he said, trying not to blush. His pulse was still rattling his teeth. "I never caught your name."

He hadn't given his either, but he supposed there were only so many famous six-foot-five Tyran mages in the Tortallian court.

She blinked, then her smile melted into something shy and even _sweeter._ "Daine, sir."

The name tugged at his memory—had someone called Princess Veralidaine that in passing?—but he dismissed it. He was a little busy trying _not_ to turn to goo at that look. There was no suppressing the blush now.

"Well, Daine. Do you need me to show you how to get out?"

She shook her head, curls bouncing. "I'll manage just fine."

"It's late," he pointed out. It wasn't precisely _dangerous_ for a girl to go out alone at night around here, but that didn't necessarily mean it was _safe,_ either.

She squeezed his hand again in gratitude, which made him realize he still hadn't let go. In his defense, neither had she. "I'll be fine," she repeated.

"If you say so," he allowed, and finally dropped her hand. Taking a few steps back, he swept into an elaborate Player's bow, said, "Then I take my leave," and looked up to find her grinning, storm-blue eyes sparkling.

_Mithros._

He couldn't have stopped his responding smile if he'd wanted to. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

Turning, he started down the hall.

Now, he thought as he passed by rows and rows of darkened windows, with any luck, this would be a one-time thing, and he wouldn't see her again. He _really_ didn't need to be nursing a crush on a commoner girl half his age.

* * *

The next day, Daine officially met Master Salmalín. It was in a well-lit ballroom, opulent and dazzling, not in a forgotten corridor of the guest wing. She was dressed in teal silk and diamonds, not wool and boots. Her nerves were manifesting as hopeful butterflies, not overwrought bawling. They were both flanked by staff, and the crier was ready to do their introductions at the start in full, not at the last in nicknames.

Master Salmalín took one look at her and flushed scarlet.

[A/N: that wasn't the end of the scene, but i didn't know what the rest of the scene was, so...]

* * *

* * *

* * *

OUTLINE/ADDITIONAL NOTES/BRAINSTORMING:

\- i think at some point, daine asked if numair was glad his fiancee was her and he kind of gave her a not-answer and kissed her hand, because he had complicated feelings about it but _yes_ he liked her a lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...i mean, _technically_ i could have left it off there? the more i look at this fic the more i realize i totally could have, though it would still leave loose ends dangling re: how the marriage worked out and etc.
> 
> still wrangling with how to balance the age gap without squicking myself on it but also without just... tossing it in the trash. i was getting closer! still not there, but closer.
> 
> ("Now, he thought as he passed by rows and rows of darkened windows, with any luck, this would be a one-time thing, and he wouldn't see her again." me@me: ??????? that. doesn't make any fuckin _sense._ this was the 'romance is dead and love is fake, pass me the booze' bug biting me again, i think. life is hard when your brain chemicals don't want you to be the hopeless romantic you know you are.)
> 
> BUT YEAH. SHE SPEAKS!! DAINE SPEAKS!! this was actually the first time i tried to actually put her _in_ a conversation and it's still not peeerfect (she's just... too _young_ somehow? not enough sass. not enough Bite.) but i was getting closer!
> 
> the only reason this one didn't get finished is because that 'romance is dead and love is fake, pass me the booze' mood hit me hard and words just didn't want to word. like the rest of the fics here, the concept is fun but i think it would need deep-plumbing for me to write it now.


	6. How You Always Get the Best of Me false start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrapped initial scene for [How You Always Get the Best of Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940379). (modern AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scrapped for characterization weirdness; This Is Not Daine (dammit daine, who aaaaare youuuuu).
> 
> there are a few details here that i still like, but for the most part, this whole section has a giant red X over it.

Daine couldn't remember a time when she hadn't loved Numair. It stretched back to her earliest memories of him, her earliest memories after the fire that had taken her Ma and Grandda. That she would one day fall for him wasn't a surprise.

He was her oldest friend after Onua, someone who had known her and cared for her and loved her unconditionally since the day they met, and when she woke up one morning and realized she was _in_ love with him, she let it realign her world two steps to the left, and then got up and got ready for the day.

She knew better than to expect it to come to fruition one day—even if he _hadn't_ known her since she was a scrappy thirteen year old orphan, she was still far away from the type of woman he liked, and she knew it—and as much as that thought hurt, it made it... _easier,_ if not _easy,_ to deal with his on-again-off-again relationship with Varice (and Varice was a reminder in herself, really), his pointedly platonic gestures (and the ones not so easily dismissed as platonic), and the way he snorted at any suggestion that their relationship would ever be anything _but_ platonic (even if she couldn't help sulking over those moments).

Sometimes she wondered what he'd say if she told him. Would he avoid her? Would he accept her feelings as a simple fact of life, like she had? Would he even believe she was serious? She didn't know, and the coward in her didn't want to find out, either.

It wasn't _running_ when you knew the outcome... right?

(And then there were times when she doubted. When their faces got a little too close and she could feel his breath catch; or when she caught him staring at her in those quiet, domestic moments; or when he would lose his composure over her in ways no one else did, and in ways he did over no one else...

And then she'd see him again, and he would be just the same as ever, and those little moments would fade away into wistful fantasy.)

She tried dating other people sometimes—Perin, Farant, Kaddar, even Evin for a week or two before she realized why Miri wasn't speaking to her anymore—but her heart was never in it. It was still Numair's apartment she ended up in after class, having conversations about her homework that turned even the worst assignments from mind-numbing to _fascinating._ It was still Numair she got smoothies and went to the movies with on weekends and went camping and traveling with over the summer. It was still Numair she was texting at three A.M. when he was pushing for a deadline and she was studying for a test.

It was still just... _Numair._

...Numair's absent-minded touches that left her nerves sizzling and Numair's scent that excited her as much as it relaxed her and Numair she desperately wished she could kiss goodnight every night.

Numair who'd seen her at her lowest, Numair who she'd seen at _his_ lowest, Numair who spent countless frozen nights sitting on the roof of his high-rise complex just telling her about the stars.

Aaaaand Numair who was _fourteen years_ older than her, who had known her since she was less than that, and whose long string of girlfriends and one-night-stands had a definite _trend_ of all the things Daine was not.

There was a Taylor Swift song out there for this exact situation, Daine was sure. She was also sure that Numair had the CD for it somewhere in his expansive collection of Billboard Hot 100 Hits from the 90s and 00s and unknown classical pieces from the 1800s and 1900s. She was _also_ sure that she was never going to look for it, because rifling through Numair's music library for songs to pine for him to was crossing a line she didn't want to acknowledge.

He adored her, she had no doubt about that. She was just also sure that he'd never look at her quite like _that,_ and she'd made her peace with that.

It was fine. It _would_ be fine, because it really couldn't be anything else. At the end of the day, he was her best friend. She couldn't lose him. She _couldn't._


	7. wolf puppy Daine AU take #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The badger god has something to ask of Numair: look after his wolf-kit until she remembers herself. (canonverse AU)

Numair was _somewhat_ familiar with gods. More familiar with them than anyone would rightly like to be, really, but that knowledge had come in handy more than once.

He wasn't sure whether right now counted as one of those times.

— _I don't like to do this,_ — grumbled the badger god who'd trundled up to his campfire without a warning, — _but I need you to take care of my kit._ —

The 'kit' cowering behind the badger on the other side of the fire (as far away from Numair as it could get) was by far the strangest badger kit he'd ever seen.

If anything, it (he? she?) was a wolf. Not quite a puppy, but not quite grown, either. Skinny, at odds with all of its limbs, but with sharp ears and a halfway sort of grace—at least, that's what he gathered from this side of the fire. The pup-kit was shivering, its clear blue-grey eyes wide and its smoky brown hackles standing on end, ears laid flat back on its head. Numair suspected that it would have bolted long ago if it had had the option.

It also radiated more wild magic than any other creature Numair had ever met, short of gods themselves.

— _Enzi spoke well of you,_ — the badger went on, — _and I don't have the time to look for another. Her name is Daine. I can't spend much time in the Human Realms, but I need to know she's looked after._ —

The badger-by-adoption (...Numair assumed adoption; he'd never heard of a child of an animal god being any species besides its parent's) let out a high, thin, terrified whine that made Numair's heart ache.

— _None of that!_ — the badger-by-creation ordered. — _You'll stay with this man until you remember yourself. Come now, introduce yourself._ —

Daine crept forward, crouched low to the ground and looking entirely unwilling.

Numair offered his hands for sniffing, half-wondering if she was going bite him instead. He wouldn't blame her if she did; the badger didn't seem to understand (or, possibly, have the time for) a comfortable pace.

She didn't bite him. She sniffed delicately, then snuffed a bit more thoroughly, then half-stood out of her crouch, her ears relaxing ever so slightly as her tail gave a tiny swish of acceptance.

Upon closer inspection, he'd place her age at around five to six months. Her winter coat was growing in well and she was big enough to be joining her pack on a hunt, but she was still small and lean. Definitely not big enough to be left on her own. He wondered if something had happened to her family.

— _Good,_ — said the badger, then sighed. — _Hang on._ —

Numair looked up to find him chewing at his paw. "What are you—" he started to ask, but before he could get farther, the badger raised his head and spat a perfect silver claw into Numair's lap.

— _Take that, and give it to her when she calms down. Make sure she keeps it on her; it will keep us connected. I don't want to lose her again. And don't worry, she won't run off as long as one of you have it._ —

"...Right."

— _Well,_ — the badger continued, sounding rueful. — _Things are a bit of a mess right now. I need to be off._ — He looked at Numair dead on and said, — _Keep her safe. She's more important than you know._ —

And then he trundled off again.

After a long moment of gazing into the underbrush, Numair sighed and glanced at his new companion. "Looks like it's just you and me now."

Daine had hidden behind the fire when he hadn't been watching.

"Or... just me." _Poor girl._ He continued to think aloud; if nothing else, it should keep her from spooking too easily. "I'm going to be making dinner for two, if you care to stick around, miss."

The wolf-cum-badger didn't reply.

* * *

Though she never ran off, it still took a couple of days of mumbling to himself as he worked and making sure not to make any sudden movements for her to stop cowering around him, and then the rest of the week for her to walk beside him. She got there eventually, though, and by the time they got back to Corus, she looked at him whenever he addressed her.

[A/N: i... completely forgot where i was going with this, lol]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so one of the first ideas i had for this fandom was an au where daine stayed with the wolf pack until she actually turned into a wolf, and then got dumped on numair sort of the way preet was, lol. the badger is a busy badger who can't stick around to make sure his friend's progeny turns back into a human like she was supposed to, and numair has a nice-looking soul and also he's nearby so you know what, take the terrified wolf puppy and make her want to be human again.
> 
> the running theme of it was sort of a drawn-out frog prince au, except to 'break the spell', daine has to _want_ to be human again.
> 
> this one failed because i... just wasn't sure how to Plot? like, what convinces daine to be human?? i'm still blanking on the version that got posted ([stay the night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289336)), and that's... partially why it too has been a little bit stuck, lol. also because it was just... kind of hell trying to get them to _want_ to spend time together? this was not an auspicious beginning and... it didn't even occur to me to try to make it easier? whoops.
> 
> plus, what is wolf body language/thought processes. idk. also i'm not writing a book and not willing to subject my nonexistent husband to months on end of nothing but Wolf™ for the sake of fanfic. STAY THE NIGHT IS NICE because there i can do disney furry instead of, like, realism. :D;;;
> 
> idk, i felt like eventually numair, like, kisses her forehead or something, and she goes _*poff*_ humanity. tomato-red squeaky flustered humanity. and then they Deal With It.


	8. wolf puppy Daine AU take #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I would just like it on record," said Numair Salmalín, sitting at the dining table in the great hall with his head in his hands, "that I didn't know I was looking after a young woman." (canonverse AU)

"I would just like it on record," said Numair Salmalín, sitting at the dining table in the great hall with his head in his hands, "that I didn't _know_ I was looking after a young woman."

His two good friends, Onua Chamtong and Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau, regarded him with ill-suppressed amusement.

Across the hall, the young woman he hadn't known he was looking after was chatting with two of the newer riders, clear blue-grey eyes sharp and ponderous in a very pretty, very _human_ face. She was slow and cool to smile, but that smile was stunning in its fae elegance. Her mane of thick, smoky brown curls cascaded around shoulders that were only just sturdy enough to disqualify her from waif status—and did nothing to hide the thick, embossed leather collar that fit snugly around her neck.

When the god of the badgers had stopped by Numair's camp one night and asked him to look after a wolf pup, _Numair had thought he was taking care of a wolf pup._

Sure, he'd known she wasn't a _normal_ wolf pup—even if she hadn't been pouring off half a god's worth of wild magic, she'd grown far too slowly and proved herself far too intelligent to be a normal canine—but he'd assumed he was looking after a Gravewolf, or maybe a first generation child of Night Black and Old White, the wolf gods, not...

Against his will, he remembered returning to the Royal Palace a few days ago, being greeted very enthusiastically by a young wolf with smoky brown fur and limpid blue-grey eyes. The greeting had involved lots of face washing, kisses, and petting. A _great deal_ of petting, really.

...There were, perhaps, places and ways that you casually touched a pet that you really _shouldn't_ casually touch a young woman.

When he'd woken up today, he hadn't expected to have a crisis over doling out belly rubs and senseless praise to a canine who was absolutely ecstatic to see him, but here they were.

"For what it's worth," said Alanna, voice thick with restrained laughter, "she seems quite happy with the care she received."

Numair scrubbed his burning face. "I _wish_ she would at least let me _remove the collar."_

"Oh, so _that's_ why you haven't taken it off," said Onua, like _somehow that hadn't been obvious_ and she really thought Numair would just _leave a young woman in a collar._

He shot her a dirty look.

"If it weren't for the implications, it would be a pretty trinket," Alanna said thoughtfully, like that was supposed to _help._ "You did a good job on it."

He shot _her_ a dirty look too.

"So, what do you plan on doing now?" she asked, ignoring him. "Does she have a place to stay?"

Numair sighed and picked up his fork. "Her... patron—" Adoptive father? Godfather? Guardian? Spirit guide? Friend? What was a badger god to a girl-cum-wolf-cum-girl? "—asked me to help her train her wild magic, so I'm taking her on as an apprentice. I'll arrange for her accommodations with Jon later."

Onua's mouth was still twitching. "Well, at least you're familiar with teaching. That will smooth things, I'm sure." Then she looked up. "Hello. We were just talking about you."

[A/N: daine arrives and i completely blanked]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Which The Author Is Forced To Acknowledge That Her Kinks Are Not Her Characters' Kinks. numair probably has a lot more baggage wrt collars than i do, and that kind of puts a dent in the sexy :'D
> 
> same story as take 1: i had no idea where i was going with this or what i was doing. starting off with 'so daine is human now huh' spared me some of the ??? and plunged me right into the ???????????????
> 
> [eirtae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirtae), when told about this au, went _i need numair to pet his puppy all over, and then have a crisis over petting his puppy all over_ and i was like _yes. yeeeeees. yEEEESSSSSSSSSS._ and the rest is history.
> 
> ...i don't have many thoughts about this one because frankly this was spaghetti-at-the-wall and ii went _shwoooop_ right on down.


	9. mermaid AU take #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Numair's tenure at the aquarium is characterized by one far-too-intelligent sea lion. (modern AU)

When Numair had started his tenure at the South Bay Aquarium, his instructions had been by and large what he'd expected: check the exhibits under his care, assist the vets with routine check-ups, prepare and distribute food to the animals, collect and organize data from the tagged catch-and-release animals, and help out the other staff when it was needful. They were loose but precise, about as straightforward and reasonable as could be expected from a tourist attraction that doubled as a research facility, and he was perfectly happy with them.

There was one notable oddity in his instructions. The man in charge, affectionately nicknamed the Badger for his salt-and-pepper hair and gruff demeanor, had waved over the sea lion exhibit as they passed by on the initial tour. "There's a female with blue eyes in there—Daine. Don't tag her, _don't_ lock her up, don't manhandle her, just let her do what she wants. She'll come and go. Don't worry about it."

"Ocular albinism in a sea lion?" Numair had said at the time. "That's fascinating."

As it turned out, ocular albinism was the least interesting thing about Daine. Or _Veralidaine Sarrasri,_ as he read on her file later, the name sticking out like a sore thumb from the list of 'Pip's, 'Bobby's, 'Darter's, 'Molly's, and the like.

When the Badger had said, _just let her do what she wants,_ Numair had thought he meant things like letting her stay in the common areas as long as she wanted. What _just let her do what she wants_ actually meant was just... _letting her out of the facility_ when she stood by the gates, like a large, aquatic outdoor cat, letting her butt in on the show routines, letting her inspect other animals' tanks at her leisure, even letting her into the human-only areas of the labs when she looked curious. The rest of the staff seemed completely at ease with this arrangement, so Numair didn't protest, but he did wonder _why_.

She was a perfectly lovely specimen of a sea lion, really. Her fur was slightly less saturated than the average of her species, turning her a pretty shade of smoky brown, with a sleek, powerful torso and agile flippers, healthy and strong and quick as a whip. All the pinnipeds Numair had ever met had been intelligent animals, but Daine was _clever_ and had a delightful sense of humor. She was shy, quiet, and a bit of a loner in the aquarium's rookery, but affectionate and silly when the mood struck. When Numair found, a few months in, that _letting her do what she wants_ meant that he had company while he worked on his academic paper, he didn't mind in the least. She was an _excellent_ listener.

* * *

[A/N: the idea was for daine to keep numair company while he was working on his paper while sitting next to one of her tanks, for him to start playing the 'touch your nose to the target' game with her, and then sort of impulsively kisses her snout (which he isn't really supposed to do but w/e, he won't do it again and no one has to know) and that makes the spell daine's under snap, and suddenly numair is faced with a very flustered sea lion mermaid/selkie with very blue eyes, and kind of short-circuits. and then the badger walks in and goes "THANK GOD FINALLY—daine get out of the pool you're flashing the field trip kids" and does some infodumping and then daine and numair are left there to have awkward silence and some teasing and it sort of ends on an open-ended-but-bright note, like, you know they're gonna get together, they just haven't yet]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the idea was for "100 words of mermaid au", which then spilled out into 'frog prince au' and 'selkie au' and 'modern au' and 'aquarium au', so, yknow.
> 
> it waaaaas going to be written for ffa but then i blanked and it was like nahhhhhhhh. also: i don't know _jack shit_ about marine biologists and that was making writing from the pov of one nigh impossible. I REALLY JUST WANT A STORY WHERE TRUE LOVE'S KISS BREAKS THE SPELL IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK.
> 
> ALSO. HEAVILY INSPIRED BY [AQUARIUMSTUCK](https://aquariumstuckcollect.tumblr.com/). BRILLIANT CREATION. BEST AU. THAT IS ALL THANK U FOR UR TIME.
> 
> i have no deep thoughts about this one. there's a canonverse version in the works that i haven't given up on yet. as it goes.


	10. drunken confession fic take #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canonverse Daine ➜ Numair drunken confession. (no established relationship AU)

Numair had been resisting the urge to drink all night.

The urge had started when he first set eyes on Daine, coming down the staircase in a flowing dress of peacock blue—the neckline only just low enough to frame the delicate shadows under her collarbones, the pale line of her throat revealed by the ribbons holding up her mass of smoky brown curls, the silk just fitting enough to accentuate her lithe figure and just loose enough to keep from inhibiting her confident stride—and then doubled when she caught sight of him and just _lit up._

 _You’re becoming a young lady,_ he'd said to her once during a similar moment, trying to justify the skip of his pulse to himself. _If I’m not careful, you’ll be grown and married to a deserving fellow before I realize it._

(Oh, those blessed days before he'd realized that thinking _someone is going to be completely gone on you one day_ whenever he caught a flash of that impish grin meant that that _someone_ was already him.)

The urge hadn't lessened as he picked his jaw up off the floor and, with effort, managed to sound mostly normal when she greeted him—and in the very _height_ of self-sabotage, he'd given her his most courtly bow and kissed her hand, sending her a teasing wink when he felt her warm skin on his lips.

She'd blushed a deep rose and that soft mouth had twisted in an expression that was desperately trying not to be a flustered grin, and to his horror, he'd very nearly yanked her into his arms kissed her right there in the main hall.

(That was the worst part of teasing Daine: sometimes it _worked,_ and he had a very hard time remembering all those reasons why he shouldn't, couldn't, _wouldn't_ kiss her.

She was his student. She was half his age. She _trusted_ him.

She trusted him, she trusted him, she _trusted_ him.)

Reluctant to let her go but eager to escape, he directed her to her parents after that. She only got a few hours with them every three months, and he wasn't about to keep her from them. He joined Alanna and Jon in doing pleasantries before the party began, doing everything he could to bury the moment and the static electricity it had left under his skin.

It only half-worked. It would have been easier if he'd been inebriated, but he forced himself to water down his mead and eat well. He didn't particularly enjoy taking leave of his senses, and taking leave of them now, when she looked like _that_...

It got harder, later, when he could see her together with her mother, sharing drink and laughing as Weiryn looked on, appearing about as content as a man—god—of his stature and disposition could.

He'd known that Weiryn had had mortal lovers and children before—there were both myths and factual accounts, the latest dating back about 230 years—but for all the strange, wonderful, extraordinary things in his life, finding that the girl he's fallen in love with—that _Daine_ —was the child of a god was about as fitting as it was surprising.

(She trusted him. She was his student. She was half his age. She was _divine,_ literally, and he was—)

(She _trusted_ him.)

They didn't approve of him, he knew. Their visit to the Divine Realms had made that radiantly clear. And why should they, really.

She deserved the world, and she deserved someone who could discover it all right alongside her. Not... him.

[A/N: so numair's angst/guilt spiral was Fun and this is what i was trying to rewrite it for but honestly i just kinda lost steam right here. i felt like there was More but i got distracted and i'm no longer satisfied with characterization or the relationship SO W/E ~~all the fun aus die because i'm a stickler for it lolorz~~ ]

It was just a bit after midnight, right after Daine's parents had returned to the Divine Realms, that Kitten came to him.

She gave a sharp, loud, _hey!_ sort of whistle, scales flickering in worry, and he looked up and around for the source of her worry.

His eyes found Daine.

Daine and a group of boys, all very close to heading into the forest at the other side of the green. Two of the boys seemed to be arguing while Daine herself was pushing towards the treeline, still all dolled up and wavering dangerously.

Numair's stomach dropped.

He stood, ignoring Jon, who he'd interrupted mid-sentence, and cut across the festivities, his heart in his mouth and his blood running cold.

It took several seconds to arrive at the group, which was a several seconds too long for him.

"This isn't hazing anymore, Ranon!" snapped one of the arguing boys. "Leave her alone, what the hell!"

"Not sure what you're talking about, _page,"_ the other was saying, silky and venomous. "Little miss here just wants to show up her _friends."_

"Now, now," Numair said as he approached, because diplomacy was usually the best first course of action, and blowing up people who hadn't _yet_ committed any crimes would be crossing a line, even for the circumstances. "What seems to be happening here?"

All of the boys froze, which was more telling than it wasn't.

"Daine?"

Daine looked up from where she was staring at her feet, paused with a frown, and then gave the boy called 'page' a wide grin. _"I'm_ Daine!"

The boy called 'page' winced.

Numair surveyed the boys—there fewer of them than he'd feared; only 'Ranon' and two others seemed resentful and guilty on his arrival, and besides them, there was one of their age that seemed to be along for the ride, one that was much younger and simply tall, and, of course, the boy called 'page'—and waited.

None of them seemed to want to answer, and in the meantime, Daine staggered up to him.

"I'm Daine," she told him confidentially, then stumbled and latched onto his sleeve.

"So you are," he said, not taking his eyes off the boys as he caught her elbow. "How much have you had, might I ask?"

Now that he was paying attention to his surroundings again, he was starting to notice the rather strange, somewhat drunken behavior of the nearby wildlife. An owl fell off its branch as he listened.

Which was an fascinating observation, and one he would like the chance to explore at a later date (...though perhaps in a context that didn't risk Daine's liver), once Daine was no longer apparently three sheets to the wind while in the very dubious company of a few too many teenage boys.

"How much of what?" she asked, uncharacteristically loud. "Because there were _lot_ of things, and I had different... different amounts of _all_ of them."

"Hmm," said Numair, still not breaking the staring contest. "Alcohol."

"Ooh," said Daine, then shook off his hand and took one wobbling step forward—and promptly tripped again. This time she latched onto his body proper instead of just his sleeve. He steadied her automatically. "A _lot._ Or... maybe not much. Some? I... I don't remember." She paused. "You're much better than the ground. The ground keeps moving."

Which was answer enough, really.

"And what are you all doing all the way out here?" he said pleasantly, this question directed at everyone present. "You're far from the party."

Again the boys didn't answer, but a guilty flinch ran through all of them. Numair's veins crackled _fire_ that he was hard-pressed to contain.

"They wanted to see the martens!" Daine said, smiling up at him guilelessly.

"The martens," Numair repeated flatly.

"Yeah!"

_Bullshit._

Anger was a rare emotion for him, but it was starting to rise now.

Numair thought for a long moment, then took a deep breath and finally looked from Daine's companions to Daine herself. He carefully placed a hand high on her back, between her shoulder blades—pointedly possessive. "Magelet, have you considered that a group of young men following a young woman into a forest alone may have intentions that _don't_ involve martens?"

She looked at him blankly, then her face cleared in understanding. _"Ohh,"_ she said, then beamed. "Don't worry, my friends will protect me! And I can... _shoot a bow,_ too."

"Do you have your bow on you at the moment?" he asked, taking care to keep his voice light and kind, no matter how much he wanted to strangle her. He hadn't _quite_ mastered the art of not shaking her when she pulled things like this, but he was getting better at it. Gods knew he got enough practice.

Daine let go of him enough to pat down her back, checking for a weapon that she most certainly didn't have, then frowned. "I _knew_ I was forgetting something."

He slowly surveyed her companions again, taking care to make eye contact with each of them. They seemed to be starting to realize the gravity of the situation they were in.

_Good._

"Your friends seem rather indisposed too," he said, nodding to the owl, which was trying and failing to fly. There was a squirrel that had staggered out of its home and was struggling to find its paws, too, and a few others he could hear but couldn't see easily. "I think your drink is catching."

She gasped, and he could feel her magic yanked back into her skin with a snap. She looked positively _stricken_ at the prospect of having gotten a few innocent critters inebriated, which was a sentiment he _wished_ she shared about her own circumstances.

She didn't though, because that wasn't who she was, so he just smiled reassuringly and stroked her back. "Don't worry, I doubt you caused any lasting damage. They'll recover before morning."

Daine was mollified.

 _"You,_ on the other hand," he added, "are suspiciously defenseless at the moment."

He glanced up as he said it, and caught 'Ranon' stiffening, one of his cronies looking to him and then looking away, the expression of the boy called 'page' flattening and tightening.

That was good enough for him.

"Names?" he asked the group crisply. "You all have them, I'm sure."

No one replied.

"I asked for your names," he repeated, barely managing to restrain the snarl. He wasn't in the mood to wait.

Daine squeaked, and he belatedly realized that his magic was starting to spark from his hands. He smothered the reaction in a hurry and soothed the spot where he'd shocked her.

"Nealan of Queenscove," gritted out the boy called 'page', taking the plunge.

The others followed suit (all nobles' sons, squires mostly)—all except 'Ranon'.

He held the boy's eye for a long moment, until finally the boy spat, "Ranon of Linden."

Numair nodded slowly, and stowed away the names. "Thank you," he said politely. "I'll remember them."

Which really meant, _you should start writing your wills now,_ but there was rarely a proper occasion for being senselessly rude. He was sure they'd gotten the message anyway.

"Don't kill Neal," said Daine, and he glanced down at her in surprise. Earnestly, she added, "He's not a bad sort."

Which implied that she knew the rest of them were a 'bad sort' and had gone along with this anyway, but thinking about that gave him a headache and redoubled his urge to shake and/or strangle her, so he tried not to.

"Duly noted," he said dryly. "Neal will remain unscathed."

Daine beamed at him in thoroughly sloshed gratitude.

The expressions on the boys faces as sweet, pacifist, odd-but- _gentle_ Daine sold them out without a trace of shame were _delightful._ Nealan looked rather touched, if unnerved, which Numair liked less, but he couldn't fault the boy. And he _had_ been trying to stop... whatever it was that Ranon had been planning to do, so he was inclined to leniency.

That sorted, he turned, using the hand he had on Daine's back to guide her away from the forest, back towards the palace. "Come along, magelet. That's enough revelry for you tonight, I think."

She twisted, then lost her balance, an his heart leaped painfully in the split second before he could get his arm around her to catch her.

Clinging to the arm, she said, "But—the martens?"

"Will be there tomorrow," he finished, gently setting her back on her feet. His heart was still rattling his ribcage. "You can visit them then, once you've recovered."

"Oh. Okay."

She opted to keep clinging to him as they started walking, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, and he slowed his steps to match hers and jerked his head at the onlookers.

Dismissed, the boys left to rejoin the party, Nealan lingering for a moment before frowning and following the rest.

Numair took a moment to breathe in the night air—the smell of green and bonfire smoke; the chill that was finally setting in after the long, hot day; the chatter and laughter that was dulled by distance. It was quieter now than it had been before. The party was starting to fray down to the truly dedicated merrymakers.

The night had been good to them all, he reminded himself. He'd made the right decision not to drink; Daine was safe and the boys would face consequences for their attempts, and Numair himself had neither missed it happening nor blown any of the perpetrators to bits. His other friends had had their fun. Daine had gotten to spend time with her parents. Morose musings aside, he himself had enjoyed the atmosphere up until the last few minutes.

Daine was fine. He'd made sure of that.

It was okay. She was _fine._

Daine's pace meant that it was a long silence but a short distance before she said, "Are you mad?"

"Furious," he answered honestly. His pulse was still refusing to calm. He could feel his Gift in his veins like a physical thing. Daine needing support was the only thing keeping him from going to the training master and having some very pointed words about what would happen if the boys (sans Nealan) were to escape punishment.

"I'm sorry," Daine said, painfully small. "I don't... know... why I didn't check for my bow before I went."

That _wasn't the issue here._ If she'd been sober, it would have been fine, but—...

Oh.

He took her hand to steady her a little more, then carefully said, "If I might ask, how many times have you been drunk before, magelet?"

"Hmm..." She trailed off and stopped, leaning most of her weight on his arm as she thought. "Can't remember. Not any, I should think. Swiped some of Ma's mead once when I was little, but she didn' let me have it again. Wine for toasts, but not more'n that."

Yes, that would explain it.

"Listen, Daine..." He thought about how to phrase it while he tugged her into walking again. "I'm sure you know already, but women need to be a bit more careful of their company when they're drunk. We all do, I suppose, but women especially. Not all men are honorable. Some are quite the opposite. A lone girl on the wrong side of tipsy makes for easy prey."

"I _do_ know that already!" she protested loudly. "I'm not—"

"You're not exempt," he added.

Daine spent a moment processing this. "Oh."

"Yes."

"...Goin' to the woods with 'em wouldn'a been a problem... _if_ I was sober."

"Yes."

"But... I'm not sober. I'm drunk. 'Easy prey'."

"Yes."

She dropped her face against his arm, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I didn't... didn't think about that."

Numair sighed and squeezed her hand. "Drink does that. Just be careful next time."

(And if he had a copper for every time he'd said _that_ to her, he'd double his not-inconsiderable savings. She always stood by her word that she'd 'be careful next time', but sometimes he felt like he was trying to plug the leaky dam of all the different ways her complete and utter fearlessness could manifest.)

"No next times for me," she murmured, rueful and subdued. She squeezed his hand back. "I don't think I like the ground trying to give me sea legs."

"That's probably for the best," he said. Both his Gift and his pulse were finally starting to calm down at the promise of caution; she really was going to kill him one of these days... hopefully _before_ she killed herself. "You certainly don't need any more courage, liquid or otherwise."

"'Liquid courage' is a mis-... misno-...—"

"Misnomer."

"—mis-no-mer," she grumbled, "It don't make no one braver. It just makes us stupider."

He snorted.

He thought the conversation was over with that, but then Daine mumbled, almost too quietly to catch, "Wish it did, though."

"Hm?"

She didn't answer, and he let it drop.

They'd progressed halfway across the green when she started to limp.

He frowned down at her, about to ask what was wrong, and then saw her shoes—ones in the style that Varice had adored, Onua reviled, Alanna remained neutral on, and Buri refused to even touch. He was surprised Daine hadn't taken them off already, but he supposed that crouching down in her state wouldn't be particularly feasible.

He carefully removed his arm from her grip and crouched down for her. "Let's see those shoes."

"Onua was right," she grumbled, bracing herself on his back instead while he removed her footwear. "These things aren't worth _manure."_

"I have it on good authority that they cost a fair bit more than that," he informed her, amused.

"Then the cobbler can wear 'em for a day and turn his prices," she retorted, then sighed in relief. "Thanks."

He stood, her shoes in his off hand, and then tried to start leading her again.

She took one step and yelped.

"Daine?" Normally she had no issue going barefoot.

...And normally, he realized belatedly, she wasn't walking in the dark while drunk.

She scowled at her feet and didn't answer.

"Come on," he said, dropping back into a crouch, first pulling the arm closer to him over his shoulder, then hiking her skirt up high enough that he could get his hands under the backs of her knees, then hoisting her up onto his back. "Up you go."

She yelped again, clutching at him in alarm, and ended up with her arms twined around his neck, her hot cheek resting against the crook of his neck, and every inch of her torso pressed snug up against his back.

When she was fully situated, she slumped and sighed a sweet little hum just under his ear, and his heart gave one very sound _thud._

He cleared his throat. "Better?"

She nuzzled his neck in lieu of an answer, inhaling and sighing again, and his heart gave several more sound _thuds,_ stomach tightening and electricity crackling all across his skin.

"You smell good," she mumbled, oblivious to his rapidly rising body temperature. "Nice. Like you."

"Glad you approve," he managed, mostly unstrangled.

"Hmm..." she said again, and then seemed to melt into him.

...Alright then.

He started walking.

(He might not know if _attraction_ was what she felt, but whatever she felt, it certainly wasn't _revulsion._ )

He thought she would fall asleep like that, but he hadn't walked more than a few yards when she broke the silence.

"Love's scary, innit."

He nearly tripped.

"Love?" he echoed, pulse rising _again_ —partially out of surprise and partially over the topic itself. "It can be terrifying."

(Terrifying to realize how much power she had over him; terrifying to realize how lost he'd be without her; terrifying to realize just _how far_ he'd go for her—terrifying to realize that everything he'd thought about love was wrong, and at some point the little girl who'd held his hand and never seen anything but what he was had become the one he wanted to—)

"Ma said she wants me to marry."

(...That.)

"Oh," said Numair. There wasn't much else _to_ say, really.

"Sooner rather'n later, 'ccording to her," Daine murmured, lips against the edge of his collar. "But one day, 'least."

"That's a... motherly thing to want," he said cautiously. It was something _he_ very much did _not_ want—unless it involved her marrying _him,_ which seemed very unlikely and rather ill-advised at this point in time.

"Mm," Daine agreed, then breathed a hot laugh over his skin. "She said she wants me to marry someone who'd petit-... pitet-... _tell_ the gods to get me out of the Black God's realm."

"Good luck," he said dryly, only slightly strained. "You might have some with Kyprioth if he's in a good mood, but he favors the two-legger tricksters, not the horse-hearted. Crows are his sacred animal, but as far as anyone can tell, he doesn't care for many others."

"Well! Now I know who I won't be courtin'."

He grinned in spite of himself.

Daine paused, then continued, amused, "'Course, then she said someone who'd walk through all the realms and back with me'd be better for me. Something about 'I'm my own woman now' and it bein' 'a romantic outing'."

He snorted, biting down on the entirely inappropriate, 'I would'—and then belatedly remembered that it wasn't just that he _would,_ he already had. Where the Green Lady had seen him, even.

Well. That was... interesting.

"I told 'er to tell it to Mauler's Swamp," Daine said, breathing a hot sigh down his collar. "And th' Sea of Sand. And Long Drop Gorge. And the... stone-maze place."

"Stonemaze," Numair supplied. "Temptation Lake wasn't so ba—" A vision of a worried, very _bare_ Daine bearing down on him like a dangerously ( _hypnotically_ ) adept siren flashed before his eyes, and he clicked his teeth shut.

Daine had stiffened. "Very pretty, 'f you don't mind scheming _wenches_ dragging your lover out to sea when you're not looking," she muttered with a surprising amount of venom, turning her cheek.

Numair blinked. He didn't actually remember what precisely had happened to him that resulted in him drowning in the lake—he hadn't been able to sleep, so he'd done what little preparation could be done within the protection circle, and then there had been a bizarre tune that he'd gone to investigate, a glimpse of what may have been an _actual_ water spirit, and then he was drowning, scrambling for shore, and upending his stomach in the reeds—but between Daine using the term 'lover' to indirectly refer to him and how very close that tone was to jealousy, he was much more tickled than guilty.

He hitched her a little higher so he could hook his elbows under her knees. "That's mood-killer to be sure."

"You're _sure_ you didn't drink the water?" she asked urgently, her voice sliding from accusatory to pleading in the space of seven words.

"Very sure," he reassured her. He was a little surprised she still cared. It had been a solid year ago, now.

Daine harrumphed, but laid her head back in the crook of his neck and wound her arms around him a little tighter, so he supposed he was forgiven.

He was just starting to wonder if he should (dared to) revive the conversation when she spoke again.

"I told her all that an' she jus' told me I wasn't usin' my _imagination,"_ Daine said, words muttered into the cloth by her face. "Piffle."

Numair laughed.

"Then she said I should marry someone _I_ love too," she went on, her voice dropping to something quiet and vulnerable, and his heart tugged. "Someone... someone I'd die for."

He didn't answer; nothing he came up with would be delicate enough.

"Or kill for," she added, now more puzzled than scared. "That's... that's a fair tall order, I should think. Outside of a-a war, I mean. Killin' just _happens_ then."

A memory of Daine scuffing her toe on the ground in what remained of the Carthaki royal menagerie, her eyes red from crying and her cheeks red from embarrassment, floated across his mind.

_I thought they killed you. I lost my temper._

[A/N: i couldn't figure out how numair replied to that and it stopped me up dead, whoops.]

* * *

* * *

* * *

OUTLINE/ADDITIONAL NOTES/BRAINSTORMING:

\- so from here they just... continue to have this really rambling conversation  
\- "MARRY SOMEONE WHO WILL TURN PEOPLE INTO TREES FOR YOU DAINE"  
\- daine: ....  
\- daine: ...you're the only person i know who can turn people into trees, numair  
\- daine: would you turn someone into a tree for me?  
\- numair: already have  
\- daine: riiiiiiiiiiight....  
\- "MARRY SOMEONE WHO WILL STAY BEHIND IN ENEMY COUNTRY TO RESCUE YOU DAINE"  
\- (eirtae: "MARRY SOMEONE WHOSE NAME ENDS IN AIR, DAINE. IT SHOULD ALSO START WITH AN N")  
\- "by the way you should take this love charm ~~and this contraception charm~~ and go find numair. that would be a fantastic idea."  
\- idk it's been long enough that i can't remember the specifics, but they talk while walking  
\- he takes her back to her room, remembers the boys and also that daine doesn't lock her door, bites the bullet and takes her back to his rooms so she can sleep on the ~~couch~~ settee  
\- i _think_ they sort of talk about sarra wanting daine to marry numair, and then daine going "idek what being married involves. ur not a noble or a farmer. what do sorcerers' wives do??"  
\- and numair swallows his feelings (god, so many feelings) and lists the traditional 'so basically you'd be my second-in-command/partner here' roles (e.g. finances, homemaking, etc)  
\- and daine's answer to all of them is 'i could do that' or 'i already do that' and numair's like '...welp.'  
\- 'we'd be lovers, too'  
\- 'i can do that'  
\- 'it's not a matter of _ability_ , it's a matter of _wanting'_  
\- '...oh.'  
\- daine thinks long and hard about this (through being completely sloshed) and then goes 'yep, i want that'  
\- and numair's like '...okay, if you can repeat that all in the morning, then i'll believe you' while Dying. just. death. so much dying.  
\- _so much_.  
\- anyway they end up in numair's rooms  
\- daine is sliiiightly too happy to be there and also v v v v cuddly  
\- kisses, because daine kind of insists  
\- idk how i wanted the morning after to go?? something about daine trying to repeat as much of what she said the night before as she can through a monster hangover while numair is Touched and also Dying.  
\- '...and if you can repeat that all in three years, i will happily marry you'  
\- and daine just smiles at him and goes 'okay'  
\- rip numair salmalín, [something] HE-[something] HE, you will be missed  
\- (TP's timelines? fucked. utterly fucked. there are years missing and doubling everywhere. daine was pregnant for a year and a half. aly and one of the princesses switched ages. george is either 6 years older or 19 years older than alanna, depending on which book you're reading. there's a whole year that's just. not there. in the protector of the small quartet. I HAVE SALT.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another concept for the fic in the box assignment! i thought i was going to continue with this one and... i might?? i guess?? but i'm being real with myself—i have five wips open at this very moment and none of them are this one, lmfao.
> 
> there was more brainstorming i had with another friend but those conversations are loooong lost to discord history and i've completely forgotten all of the keywords i could search to find them again, orz.
> 
> "(Oh, those blessed days before he'd realized that thinking _someone is going to be completely gone on you one day_ whenever he caught a flash of that impish grin meant that that _someone_ was already him.)" best line. beeeeest. i need to incorporate it somewhere Officially because, you know, just. _yes._
> 
> all the best lines, all the best concepts!! all the most infuriating characterization/relationship dynamic weirdnesses. this is yet another one of those early fics where i was still feeling my way around, fairly clumsily. it was the _closeness_ they have that was baffling me the most. there's an intuitiveness and trust in canon that kept slipping through my fingers ~~not least because of the 'romance is dead and love is fake, pass me the booze' mood, ahahaaaahaa~~ anyway, i love them. writing them is hard, but i love them.


	11. unicorn fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory unicorn fever fic. (canon-compliant)

He'd gotten there too late.

Daine was going to die, and it would be because he'd gotten there too late.

That was the only thought rattling around in Numair's skull as he watched her pant, flushed and pained as her life slipped away minute by minute, second by second.

Unicorn fever. What a silly name for something so terrifying.

To think he'd been terrified to learn that he loved her, was _in_ love with her, that somewhere along the line, that little girl with too-young-too-old eyes had become the person he _wanted_ more than anyone, anything, _everything_ else—

It seemed so insignificant now.

He loved her. He had always loved her. That that love now made him feel like he was drowning each time he looked into her eyes wasn't the worst that could happen.

This was.

 _She's not dead yet,_ Alanna had said grimly when she'd walked into the sickroom, but that had been eight hours ago, and Daine had only gotten worse.

They both knew the mortality rate of unicorn fever. Daine's chances were slim-to-none. Maybe they wouldn't have been if he'd gotten there faster, but he hadn't, and now she was going to die.

"'Mair?" she rasped, eyelashes fluttering.

The nausea clogging his throat tightened up, but his voice was steady when he said, "Yes, sweet?"

"There you are," she breathed, sounding relieved, then shut her eyes again.

"Were you looking for me?" he asked, desperate to keep her talking and equally desperate not to show how desperate he was.

He was chillingly, chillingly aware that this was likely the last he'd get to talk to her.

"Mm..." said Daine, floaty and idle. "Yeah. I thought you'd... you'd gone away."

"Me?" Irony could be cruel, truly. "Never."

She smiled through the pain, and Numair couldn't breathe for a long moment.

"I knew that," she said, "an' I _told_ Ma so, but she said blue'll be blue and people always leave."

"That doesn't sound much like your mother," he said after a long inhale that trembled more than he wanted it to.

She frowned, unfocused. "Don't it?"

"Doesn't it," he corrected, en route, and her hand twitched like she'd be flapping it at him if she had the strength. "She never believed your father left, did she? And she was right. Your father came to get her. Why would she think people always leave?"

"Oh," said Daine, and appeared to think about it. "'S me then, I s'pose."

He blinked. "What's you?"

"Thinkin' people always leave," she said, so small that Numair's throat locked all over again. "Da left. Ma left. Grandda left. Mammoth..." That was where she ran out of energy.

He placed his hand on top of hers like he could keep her tethered there with that alone. "Would Alanna leave you?" he asked. "Would Onua?"

"They might," she whispered, voice cracking. "There's no helpin' with the Black God."

Numair blinked again, this time to clear away tears, and squeezed her fragile hand as tight as he dared. "Would I?"

She frowned at the ceiling, lips pursed like she thought he was being silly, then turned her head enough to look at him.

Even like this she was beautiful, even with her skin flushed far too deep and her eyes were too glassy to focus, soft mouth and long eyelashes and perfect cheekbones, deep waves of brown burnished by the firelight.

"No," she said hazily, and with a start, Numair realized that she'd been staring back. Slowly, her hand turned in his grip, and then she linked her fingers in his. "You'd kick the Black God's shins before you left. And then you'd keep kickin' him. You'd make the Black God very sorry. And then you'd throw a simu— sumi— sicul—"

"Simulacra," he provided, blinking more when his vision threatened to blur.

"That," said Daine. "At him. And then you'd come back for me."

"I would," he agreed. And he would. With everything in his power, he would. Then, because he had, had, had to know: "What about you? Are you going to leave?"

 _"Why_ in the name of Mother Goddess would I do _that?"_

_Because I got there too late, and you might not have a choice._

Numair tried to laugh, and just rasped instead. "Why indeed."

"Gonna go for a walk," she informed him sleepily, those long eyelashes fluttering. "Be back in... sundownrise."

Horror-panic-helplessness washed over him, but there was nothing he could do except squeeze her hand and say, "Come back soon."

* * *

_"Numair!"_

He'd let go of her hand for the past hour or so in favor of doing the reports Jon wanted—there was no way in this realm or another he was leaving Daine's bedside, but the reports needed to be done and if he had nothing to occupy him except her sleeping face ( _gods, sleeping, she was just sleeping, she was still here, just sleeping, please, please, please_ ), he was going to go absolutely insane—but he dropped his quill and grabbed the one closest to him.

"Daine?"

"Numair! Numair? Where—" Her voice hitched in a sob. "—where... where..."

"I'm here, I'm here," he soothed, sliding off his stool and sitting on the edge of her bed instead. He cupped her face, smoothing her burning cheek as her mouth trembled. "I'm here. What do you need? What's wrong?"

"Numair...?" Her eyes opened, sightless gaze searching her surroundings. "Where... here?"

"Here," he said fervently, nearly shattered by her panic. "I'm here, I'm here, I'm here."

With every repetition, she relaxed a little more, until the look on her face was merely unhappy. She still didn't seem to see him. "...Thought... you left."

"No leaving." Gods. _Gods._ "I'm still here. I won't leave you."

Daine melted in a sigh, the tension and distress flooding out of her. "Oh."

Her eyes finally focused. They found his, and then she smiled. She clasped the hand he had on her cheek, the heat of the fever searing into him, and then she nuzzled into it, closing her eyes once again.

_Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith._

The gods had a terrible, terrible, terrible sense of humor.

"I'm going to move to the other side," he told her softly, "so I can do my work. I'm going to be right here. You can watch me. I won't leave."

She opened her eyes again to shoot him an unimpressed look, which dissolved into discomfort when he pulled his hand free and started to pack up the reports. She kept watching him as he moved the small table and stool to the right side of the bed, then unpacked the reports again and set up his inkwell. That done, he could offer her his left hand and keep working with his right.

Daine appeared to find this arrangement amenable. She slipped her hot palm into his, clasped it tight, and resettled in her bed.

This time, Numair didn't let go.

* * *

OUTLINE/ADDITIONAL NOTES/BRAINSTORMING:

\- SO BASICALLY numair holds her hand practically the whole time  
\- and she?? get better (i mean obvs but still)  
\- and the healers are like 'wooooah she should NOT have survived that' but, yanno, the Power of Love  
\- i wrote this long enough ago that i... can't actually remember what other scenes i had planned

EDIT:  
\- okay actually i think what i was going to do was have numair talk to her a bit, and then has to go to wash/use the privy/etc  
\- and when he comes back, the healer that stopped by to check on daine goes "whatever you were doing before, keep doing it"  
\- so he does  
\- he sits there for days just... talking to her. narrating his reports and reading aloud and telling her stories. not fully nonstop and he does doze off occasionally, but the vast majority of the time he spends talking  
\- and she gets better, like, way better way faster than she was supposed to, because numair was there and she had to keep coming back for him

\- she wakes up and makes faces at him for sticking to her side so hard, but he was There and she pulled through For Him  
\- and people kinda pass over the implications of that because daine and numair are just attached at the hip, you know? it makes perfect sense that numair would lose his goddamn mind at the thought of losing daine and it makes sense that daine would stick around for numair and then scold him for worrying so much. that's just How It Goes.  
\- numair guiltily commissions the portrait, and, again, no one questions that because numair is ~~sensitive~~ Dramatic™ and would totally want a locket portrait of a beloved student who nearly died because that's Just Who He Is  
\- obliviousness, the fic

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYYY round 45329874 of attempt at fic in the box assignment fill. this was a bit late iirc, but inspired by it, i thhhhhink. honestly it's been a while and a few-and-a-half states of brain since i worked on it.
> 
> it was more of an angst vent than anything (that happily coincided with one of my recip's requests), and i don't think i'll come back to it (i tend to come up with new angst ideas each time i need a vent and the exchange is loooong over), so into the graveyard it goes.


	12. carthak duchess!Daine AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ozorne makes good on his promise to make Daine a duchess. (canon divergent)

_"You—can’t hurt us." Daine fought hard to say it. “Ambassadors. Sacred—”_

_"I will hurt no one, my dear." Ozorne placed her arm in her lap again and brought his chair close, sitting where he could watch her face. "You will run away and vanish into the kingdom. I will be furious. For all I know, you are among criminals in the underground, urging them to rebel against me. Your friends will be forced to leave immediately, under guard. Even Tortall’s allies will be able to see that these talks failed due to_ you, _not to me. I will have my Tortallan war, and no one will stop me._

 _"Better, I know that he loves you—the traitor Salmalín. That I could see when he came here seeking you, and the night Zernou pointed him out to me—the night the traitor warned my heir not to trifle with you. Since we will go to war in any case, Salmalín will return for you, and I will have him." There was nothing in his voice, or eyes, but kind interest. "This will turn out for the best. I_ like _you, Veralidaine. The way you have with my darlings—" He shook his head admiringly. "You will have a title—countess, perhaps? Even duchess. You will have your own estates, your own slaves, whatever you wish. You will even have the dragon, too. It will be necessary to keep her under the sleep until you are well settled here, but once you are, she will be content as long as_ you _are content. I will not risk waking her until I am certain she will not turn on me."_

_Sleep was wrapping around her like a cloud-filled blanket. "Numair..."_

_Ozorne stood. "He dies, my dear. The gods demand a blood sacrifice, and so do I."_

* * *

She was still heavily drugged when they brought her to the execution.

Most of her memory of the journey was of splintered light and dark, stone halls and burning roads, and when it ended, she was in a box seat overlooking an arena.

She was seated beside Emperor Ozorne himself, in a chair of gold and velvet. Her jaw was locked, her vocal chords unresponsive. Varice and Kaddar didn't spare her a glance, watching the white-hot sands with blanched-white faces.

Walking across the sands, escorted by guards, was Numair.

What happened next was both distant and crystal clear.

Numair was brought to the center of the arena, forced to kneel, and tied down. A gladiator came out, flanked by red-robed mages. They formed a triangle around the prisoner

The gladiator raised his sword, positioned it over Numair's back, and _thrust._

Once the metal blade pierced through to the other side, covered in blood, The mages came forward, glowing with their gifts, and—

Numair screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

The screams went on and on and on, interrupted once or twice for Numair to empty his stomach onto the sand in front of him, and then on for even longer.

Eventually, they petered out, and it was only once they were gone entirely that Numair was hoisted up, held upright for everyone to see as he was burned into a husk.

Daine watched.

She wouldn't have watched if she'd had a choice. She would have vaulted over the edge to fight them all herself, if she could have. She would have hauled Numair over her shoulder—maybe as a bear, or a tiger, or even an elephant—and fought her way out tooth and nail.

But her jaw was locked, and her limbs were anchored, and her mind was unresponsive. Neither Varice nor Kaddar had glanced her way even once—though whether she was invisible or not, she didn't know. The horror scrawled across both of their faces suggested that they might not be aware of much of anything beyond the events of the arena.

It was only once Numair was well and truly gone that Varice began to sob.

"There, there, my dear," said Ozorne. If not for the context, Daine might have thought he was comforting the woman over a spoiled cake, not a dead ex-lover. "Arram had to die. This is for the best. You know that."

Varice gripped the railing, a muscle jumping in her jaw, then the tension went out of her all at once. The bleak defeat in her eyes was echoed in Kaddar's. Neither of them argued further.

"Now, let's enjoy the games, shall we?"

* * *

Nobody commented on her presence on the way back, either, their eyes passing over her in a way that suggested she was truly invisible.

She was led back to a cell that she might have been in before or might not have been, her jaw was pried open to fit the top of a vial into her mouth, and an odd-tasting potion was poured down her throat. Slaves laid her out on the thick mat, and she slept.

* * *

She woke up to pain. Heartache, and the resounding, indisputable fact that Numair was gone.

She was in Carthak, a prisoner of the emperor, and Numair was gone—gone to screams that went on and on and on.

She was alone, and Numair was gone.

_Numair was gone._

She rolled over in her bed and sobbed.

Eventually, a slave came in with another vial of potion, and, too weakened by the previous dose to put up enough of a fight, she found that one poured down her throat too.

She slept.

* * *

Each morning after that, she was greeted with food, water, and another dose of the potion, administered by a slave. She thought to fight the potion a few times, and each time, the next dose came back stronger than before.

At some point she was moved from the white-walled cell to a more comfortable room, one with a raised bed and a separate privy, quilts and pillows and even a bookshelf with leather-bound books.

Still deep in the drug haze, she didn't think to check the door for a knob.

Numair was gone—gone to inescapable screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming that still rang in her ears, screaming that still ricocheted off the walls, screaming that still rattled her bones and seared her heart—and she was alone.

Only a few tears escaped her this time, and she didn't need the potion to put her to sleep.

Numair was gone.

* * *

She had no way of knowing how long that went on, but eventually, her mind started returning to her.

The voices of the People started filtering back in, no longer blocked flat by the potion. Concern met her when she started trying to reach them again, feeling like she was limping on numbed limbs to get there.

It would have been easier without the effects of the potion, but even though there were no longer any slave to pour it down her throat, she found herself taking it anyway. Without it, the pain started to leak through the cracks, getting stronger and stronger and stronger until she felt like she was about to join Numair in his unending screams.

She couldn't talk to any of her friends if she was busy screaming.

Carthak had gone to war with Tortall, they told her—or, rather, they told her the two-legger armies were marching and eavesdropping through them brought up the name Tortall often enough.

They brought her news of their hunts, of the skies, of the food they'd scavenged and the burrows they'd dug. She had no questions for them, and no will to voice the questions she didn't have. She laid in bed and let their distant chatter wash over her.

Ozorne visited her eventually.

"Hello, dear," he greeted her, standing in the middle of her bedroom. "How are you settling in? The slaves tell me you haven't yet left your rooms."

Daine blinked at him, and nodded. She was still in bed, the blankets rumpled into a nest they'd been in for the past few days. One of the books was opened beside her; she'd fought her way through two pages before giving up and going back to sleep.

"Do you want for anything? Say the word and it will be brought to you, within reason."

It was a struggle to open her mouth—a part of her still believed her jaw was locked shut. Eventually, she managed, "I can't... hear my friends... very well."

Ozorne's look of mild confusion cleared. "Ah, I suppose your dose has been kept higher than it ought to have been. We'll adjust it. Is there anything else?"

Numair, Numair, Numair— _give him back._

Numair was gone, and she was alone.

"No, sir."

He nodded to her, then turned and left through the door he'd come through.

* * *

The week following that conversation was easier—she made it through five pages of the book at a time, then nine, then fifteen, and the thoughts of her friends got easier to hear—and then she woke up on the seventh day.

Numair was gone, she thought as she held the vial in her hand.

Numair was gone, and she'd seen him die, she thought as she pulled out the cork.

Numair was gone, and she'd seen him die, and it was Ozorne that had done it, she thought as she stared down into the viscous blue substance.

A cool shiver ran through her, her senses sharpening as they tricked back in. A fact that had been there all along was finally starting to become apparent to her.

Ozorne needed to pay.

With his pride, with his power, with his life, Ozorne needed to _pay._

She downed the potion and started to think.

* * *

It had been almost a month since the execution.

The ship that had held her human friends had sunk when they were halfway across the inland sea. A freak storm, they said—like she believed that for a second.

Numair was gone. Alanna was gone. Kitten was here, but she was locked up and unconscious until Daine was 'settled'. She had no way of knowing how Cloud or Onua or her other friends back at the palace or the Swoop were.

They were at _war._

Some part of her was sure that if Numair were here, he'd know what to do, and if he didn't know, they'd figure it out together. Numair had lived in Carthak before. He knew how to navigate it.

But Numair was gone—not far away, not somewhere she could reach if she just searched hard enough, he'd been _killed_ and she had seen-heard- _felt_ the end with her own senses—and she was alone.

Her range was bad, but three evenings of riding along with mousers and circling crows gave her a fairly thorough map of the estate she was in.

On the fourth day after her realization, she left her room.

She did her best not to appear nauseated by how many slaves there were at this estate, and something—be it grief or the potion or both—made that easier than it should have been. Her face was numb. She explored on her own two feet for a bit, seeing the colors of the tapestries with her own eyes and wandering through the grossly opulent halls until her weakened state demanded she sleep again.

She repeated this process a few times, her thoughts getting clearer and clearer all the time.

She was in Carthak, and her friends were not. Her friends weren't anywhere but the Black God's realm.

She was slowly gaining back enough range with her wild magic to gather information about Carthak's military through her animal friends' eyes, but she couldn't get her information across the sea, and while she knew there were Tortallan spies in Carthak, she didn't know where they were and she certainly didn't know _who_ they were.

She could stage an uprising with help from the People, but that would be senseless. A fuss in the capital city wouldn't stop a war, and just the thought of how many deaths that would result in made her stomach churn.

Numair was gone. That was far too much death for her in one lifetime.

Well. They'd give her Kit if she played nice. They might even let her out of this estate if she played nice. Raging and screaming would get her killed, at best, and the potion had left her so numb she wasn't sure she had it in her, but playing nice...

She seemed to remember that Ozorne had even promised her an estate and a title if she played nice.

She had no wish for an estate or a title, but slowly, she was starting to realize that maybe she had a _use_ for them.

* * *

She took a bit of time to practice her facial expressions and vocal range before Ozorne visited again.

* * *

* * *

* * *

OUTLINE/ADDITIONAL NOTES/BRAINSTORMING:

*numair and co are not actually dead, the simulacra worked and numair just had to be passed out in the cargo hold of the ship for something like 72 hours or something, and thus they are gone before they can turn back  
\- i can't remember _exactly_ what she was going to ask him, but i think it was for... a job? or privacy?? idk  
\- daine starts _trying_ to fuck over ozorne, but like, subtly, but also she's still drugged to high hell and back  
\- she's 'given' varice as a stewardess, and forms a... not friendship exactly, but she cares about varice and varice becomes a very worried caretaker  
\- the drugs keep getting worse and worse as daine adjusts to them  
\- she's moved out of the city to a very nice little palace-place all on her own (with varice + slaves + paid staff), and uses the privacy to get her friends to mess up communications, but, like, subtly  
\- at some point, hallucinogens are added to her cocktail, and she starts using her animal friends' eyes to get around, because they can still see clearly  
\- ozorne has a focus for her that keeps her from realizing that numair is actually alive, which also makes her not see the communications she's been messing with mention him from time to time (she still thinks alanna and the rest of her friends are dead too, despite _them_ being mentioned too)  
\- at some point here, ozorne decides she can have kitten back, and kitten is too worried to retaliate (and is aware that under the circumstances, actively trying to Burn Things would be a Bad Idea)  
\- after, like, a year of that, numair and alanna and others end up back in carthak to try to strike at the source, and track down duchess daine, to try to figure out why she betrayed them  
\- they find her and she looks at them head-on and doesn't recognize them (she thinks they're hallucinations because she has a lot of them), which makes them realize there's something well and truly fucked up about that  
\- varice takes them aside and confesses that she's been making the potions for daine on ozorne's orders and doesn't quite know how to lessen them without hurting her or she would  
\- numair figures it out and lays out what she needs to do to reduce the dose and then they stick around just a bit longer  
\- ozorne visits daine, kisses her (poooossibly for the first time or possibly not for the first time, i never did decide) and daine smiles through the whole thing and then smashes a room full of vases once he's gone  
\- (numair is witness to all of this)  
\- ozorne ends up insisting she visits him at the capital, and she does with a smile  
\- by this time, the hallucinogens are far enough away that she can kinda transform again  
\- so ozorne meets her in the menagerie  
\- wheeeere daine has quietly undone all the latches to the hyena enclosure  
\- kitten went to track down the focus, and she and the others are all back at the palace at this point  
\- soooo ozorne comes alone, daine goes all smiley, and then kitten crunches the focus and daine either shifts into a hyena to rip his throat out or something similarly gruesome and murdery  
\- she lets the other hyenas feast on his corpse and turns back and it's varice who comes forward to cover her  
\- sooo everyone witnessed that and now daine's got a face full of blood as the information that yeah, actually her friends _are_ alive is starting to trickle back in  
\- and also standing right behind her, to witness her killing a man  
\- numair hugs her a lot and then maybe idk the graveyard hag/badger turn up  
\- ....i think the god's thank you gift to her is a magical brainfixer so she doesn't have to go through years of undoing trauma and mindbreak and mental/medical damage  
\- and then she gets to go home  
\- hhhhhhappily ever after?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the record, i _hadn't_ really considered the implications of varice being the one to make the calming potion for ozorne's mom—namely that it would be pretty reasonable for her to know her way around a potion well enough to lessen daine's dosages, but this fic runs off angst rules, not logic rules.
> 
> ...this whole thing is pretty "i am sad and furious and can't think so have as many determinator-in-the-face-of-hopelessness-and-helplessness feels as i can manage."
> 
> at risk of being tmi, a lot of this was me taking out my frustrations about my meds on fictional character, which was kinda nice. it's one thing to say 'the brainfog is bad today my folks' and another to actually try to describe it. i've never been _fully_ as badly off as daine but damn if i haven't been pretty close.
> 
> again, another angstvent. again, scrapped because i'm probably not going to come back to this exact one. ta~


	13. accidental pregnancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few years down the line, Daine and Numair cave to the sexual tension and join in the Beltane festivities. This has unexpected consequences.

For the first few months, Daine didn't even realize she was pregnant.

Her monthlies were erratic when she was under stress, and missing two in a row was odd, but not damning. The morning nausea was blessedly light, suppressed by ginger tea and a bit of peace and quiet. That she wanted to spend a great deal of time asleep could also be put down to the persistent distress of having to deal with lots and lots of hostile immortals. However the child happened to be positioned in her belly, it didn't seem keen to show its presence, and she remained passably slim for a long while.

Once she missed her third cycle, she stopped by a healer on her way back into Corus after a mission.

The healer was simply surprised she'd gone so long without realizing it, wryly congratulated her on her impending motherhood—and then, upon seeing her face, asked if she'd rather take a potion to end it.

To which Daine's answer was a somewhat horrified 'no, thank you' (despite having made the same offer to several women in similar circumstances, the irony of which only occurred to her after she left) and a somewhat more sincere expression of gratitude for the healer's time and expertise.

There was really only one point she _could_ have conceived.

One drunken incident on Beltane _did_ result in children often enough to be [unsurprising], but she hadn't left her pregnancy charm behind. It was a good charm, too.

(She only remembered much later that she'd transformed into a hawk the next morning, leaving it behind and not thinking to put it back on, despite _knowing_ that a pregnancy charm needed a few days for surety.

 _How_ many times had she seen that happen? _How_ many times had she scolded accidental mothers-to-be for similar mistakes? Somewhere deep in the Divine Realms, her own mother was clicking her tongue.)

Regardless, she was now in possession of an unborn child, fathered by the only man she'd ever lain with.

And... he seemed thoroughly determined to ignore that he'd ever done such a thing with her at all.

It wasn't that she and Numair never talked. Quite the opposite; they talked a great deal, about everything and nothing at all.

But they didn't talk of Beltane, or those little moments where they got too close and she could swear that they were thinking the exact same thing, or the way they both got snippy and uncharitable each other's admirers, or how every touch that could linger _did_ linger. They didn't talk about what it looked like for her to handle the finances between them, or that people approached her just as easily as they did him when they had business with Wizard Salmalín, or that he was the first person people told when something happened to her. Over the past several years, the tower had become as much hers as it was his.

The more she thought about it, the more it occurred to her that they were married in all but name.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she would like to be married in name as well—to love and to hold until the end of their days.

However, the deadlock they were in was so strong that, short of plopping herself in his bed and refusing to budge, she didn't quite know what to do about it.

She should probably tell him about the baby, though.

And she intended to do exactly that, as soon as possible. At the least, he deserved to be the first to know.

Unfortunately, through a combination of nerves, hesitation, and interruptions, she didn't tell him in the following week, and then, in the early dawn of the eighth day, Numair arrived in her room to give her a crushing hug, an almost-platonic kiss on the mouth, and the news that he was being sent out on a mission— _alone_ —for a month.

Then he told her that he loved her and would never forgive himself if he left without telling her, which was more than a little bit worrying even to Daine's mostly-asleep mind. She didn't have the wherewithal to do much more than blearily return the sentiment and insist he come home safe, and then he was gone and she was unconscious again within seconds.

Alanna was the one who officially broke the news the next morning.

"Sorry we couldn't tell you earlier," she murmured to Daine, far away from any prying eyes and blanketed by silencing spells besides. "It was decided yesterday, and it needed to happen without anyone the wiser."

* * *

* * *

* * *

OUTLINE/ADDITIONAL NOTES/BRAINSTORMING:

\- daine has a very profound 8| mood for a loooong while  
\- predictably, numair's mission gets dragged out bit by bit by bit for m o n t h s  
\- she doesn't really start to show until like the fourth month and even then she's good if she wears loose clothing (she's been bathing alone for a while now)  
\- For Reasons, she still doesn't want to tell anyone (numair will Be Back Soon, they swear, and she told herself he would be the first to know)  
\- her pregnancy is pretty smooth sailing as far as how she _feels_ but also her child is the child of a demigoddess and a black robe mage and daine spends a lot of time putting out the fires it sets from in the womb  
\- she manages to hide it until like... month six? when jon wants to send her out on something dangerous and she draws the line because at this point it would really profoundly endanger the baby and Nope  
\- obviously, the rumor mill fucking EXPLODES  
\- who the fuck tf is the wildmage's babydaddy?? nobody knows! she keeps insisting he'll be the first to know!! why won't she tell anyone??!!  
\- ...like, 2 people guess numair, but also she's refusing to tell them _when_ she conceived and she didn't show for the longest time so it was like?? DUDE WHO. WHEN. TELL US. and she's like "...nah"  
\- she delivers safely and on time with minimal fuss, and, like, she's Distressed about the mission and numair still not being home but also she's pretty Done/philosophical about with carrying a baby that sets things on fire  
\- numair finally, finally, FINALLY gets back after WAY TOO FUCKING LONG like... 2-3 weeks after the baby arrives  
\- and alanna's like "😬 idfk how to tell you this but uh... daine became a mother while you were gone"  
\- "of what"  
\- "a baby"  
\- "what"  
\- "human baby"  
\- "...adopted?"  
\- "gave birth herself"  
\- "........oh. who??"  
\- "nobody knows, she insists the father has to be the first to know, but we haven't tracked him down yet."  
\- and because i have a MO, he is entirely oblivious to the fact that it could be him (they were careful and it was a good contraceptive okay it's not entirely unreasonable)  
\- so he has a Lot Of Emotions about that and then goes to visit daine in the nursery  
\- it's bittersweet in the extreme to see obviously-new-mom daine come up to flop on him, and he hugs her a long minute and says something like "so i see you've had a few changes since i saw you last"  
\- and she just fuckin. dumps the baby in his arms. "your son is a menace."  
\- "...my what is a what."  
\- "son. menace."  
\- "my _what?!"_  
\- "son. child. progeny. offspring. babe."  
\- ".............................?!??! **?!??** _ **??**!??!_?!??"  
\- she pats him on the arm and tells him he's long overdue for his turn, also she can do the rest of the wifely things without much fuss but if she's going to raise his children then she insists they get married, also, she loves him, and he'd better not leave her like this again  
\- and then she kisses him and pats his arm and tells him he can have 8 hours to think about it because she hasn't slept properly in weeks, and anyone who interrupts her will get slashed  
\- and then numair sits down and cries (happy cry), because baby, and also daine, and also he's been in hostile country for like 6 months and is finally back home and also _he's a father  
_ \- (and then afterwards he tells daine that ofc he'll marry her (as he's wanted to for years now) and there are lots and lots and lots of cuddles that really they both needed to catch up on)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was really never.. actually supposed to be posted when i started it? except i'm never any good at writing things i don't intend to post (man if i wanted a story for myself i'd just stick to daydreaming and _maybe_ not!fic), so i soooort of thought to myself 'hmmm maybe i'll post' except then inspo/energy left anyway.
> 
> ...idk i get Weird about pregnancy (a combination of witnessing the fairly traumatic birth of my younger sibling and my mom's general being in love with life and also kind of a Mother by calling, which i am not but the general reverence/adoration for Family and Life has been thoroughly inundated anyway) and i feel Weird about being Weird about, so, yknow. i'm a little ashamed of that which is a great reason to write fic, frankly.
> 
> i have no real reason for dropping this except losing interest and going on to newer and shinier projects.


	14. Cinderella-ish AU alt. POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinderella has no fairy godmother this time, but the prince is thoroughly charmed anyway. (canonverse AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> context: an alt pov of a fic i have not yet finished/published, where the premise is that jon is hosting a cinderella-type ball to find numair a wife for political reasons, and galla sends lonely little fatherless daine as their only candidate, because fuck tortall, basically.

Numair had almost made his way through meeting every available bride when he met her.

"Master Salmalín?"

At first he thought it was a servant who'd called him, from the cadence of his name. Rougher and rounder than the tones he'd been hearing all night. It was a relief, in a way. His face ached from the smile that wasn't allowed to slip as long as he was doing introductions.

It was a surprise to turn and find a... lady? A girl, one with thick, smoky brown curls and a stubborn chin and a wide stance, dressed in a shade of pink that didn't suit her color at all.

She dipped into a clumsy curtsy, then said, "I am Lady Veralidaine Sarrasri, from Galla." Her cheeks were red, her expression one of blank discomfort, but she looked up at him steadily all the same. Her words were measured, like they were unfamiliar in her mouth. "I thought... that I should introduce myself."

 _"'Sarrasri'?"_ one of the women he'd been talking to—Lady Bethalie? Bethani? Beth?—echoed incredulously.

Lady Veralidaine stiffened, and Numair recalled Gallan naming conventions. Children were named for their fathers, unless their father was unknown. Those without fathers—bastard children—were named after their mothers.

Mothers like 'Sarra'.

He felt a powerful rush of sympathy and admiration for the poor girl. It couldn't have been more obvious that she wanted to vanish into thin air, but she still stood tall, proud and unflinching. He wasn't sure he had the kind of courage that required _now,_ much less when he was her age.

He offered a hand, and, hesitantly, she placed hers in it.

Her grip had the strength of one who was used to pulling her weight, the scrape of archery callouses on her first two fingers and the collection of little marks that one incurred when working hard labor.

He felt a bit off about bowing over her hand and kissing her knuckles—he should be giving her a firm handshake and asking after her trade, not dispensing empty court pleasantries—but it would be horribly rude not to, and she didn't deserve that.

He said, "It's an honor, Lady Veralidai-... -ne..." and then actually looked, really _looked_ at her, and felt the words die in his throat.

Her _eyes._

Blue-grey and penetrating, beautiful, _remote._ Level as the pride that kept her standing tall and deeper than oceans. There was a sharp, analytical intelligence there, the kind of steadfastness and straightforwardness he associated with women like Onua and Alanna, but with a kind of softness and _sweetness_ there, too, both strong enough to suck you in and keep you entranced.

For a moment, Numair just drowned.

Then she blinked, and he belatedly remembered how to breathe and then his manners, in that order.

"Welcome to Tortall," he said, smiling, then cleared his throat when his voice rasped. "How are you finding your stay so far?"

[etc etc etc]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so daine is a middle finger to tortall but perhaps no one actually thought about the possible results of offering a sane working girl (as opposed to a spoiled noble girl) as a marriage candidate to a sane working man, regardless of the political impact of the offer. perhaps they should have. as a thought.
> 
> SO this is an offshoot of _yet another_ attempt at 'arranged marriage', except i figured this slid a little too far outside of 'arranged' to get the label, so.
> 
> anyway yeah i was writing this fic from daine's pov and got stuck and started trying to scribble out numair's side and this is what i have! from that scene. and i don't think it's ever getting finished because ohhhh man alt povs are hard (i love them!! why they gotta do me like this!!!), sooooo into the graveyard it goes. wish me luck for finishing the original fic 🙏


	15. she's in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daine has a Feeling Realization™. (Or two.) (no established relationship AU)

Attempt #1:

It was three months past the end of the Immortals War when it occurred to Daine that she was in love.

It wasn't a big moment, or a dramatic one. There was nothing notable about it at all, really.

Now that the countries had had a (admittedly very brief) chance to catch their collective breath, a summit had been called to renegotiate alliances and to arrange exchanges of resources between the countries that needed them. Daine had narrowly escaped being involved in such talks by virtue of being a war hero and not an official of any sort, and also by the virtue of being sixteen.

(Emperor Kaddar, despite being seventeen, had no such luxury. Daine sympathized, but she also wouldn't have taken his spot for the world.)

She and Numair had stayed behind in Corus, helping to entertain the visiting nobles while the King and Queen were away—which was stifling and unpleasant in its own right, but at least it didn't involve the future of their country.

In the strictly geopolitical sense of the word, anyway. The future _generation_ of their country was too underfoot to be ignored.

And right now, Numair was doing a startlingly good job at keeping them out from underfoot.

The party was boring; just fancy enough that Daine had been required to wear a dress, and just casual enough that the children were attending with their parents, instead of being left to their minders. The children, predictably, would much rather be causing a ruckus than sitting quietly and minding their manners. Daine couldn't blame them. She felt like causing a ruckus herself.

Here, Numair was a saving grace. Juggling, playacting, showing off his skill in sleight of hand—even Maura had been drawn into his orbit, listening and laughing along as they all tried to figure out how he'd done it and marveled at how many balls he could keep in the air at once.

Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised. Numair had always been good at making people smile.

It was just... different, to watch him like this. She didn't often get the chance to just sit by and admire.

He caught all five of the small red balls he'd been juggling, making them disappear with a flick of his wrists, and then pulling two out again with another flick—these were blue instead of red, and a bit larger—and then crouched to let the child in front of him take one for inspection, his face lit in a fond smile as the child waved at him with it, crowing and babbling.

He glanced to the side, preparing another trick with both hands behind his back, and caught her eye. The smile turned into a grin, and he tossed her a wink.

She smiled back in that instant, and thought, _oh._

He swept up to his full (rather formidable) height once again, ready for his next act, and Daine was left alone with her realization.

_I'm in love._

All at once, a lot of things started to make sense.

The way she melted for his smiles. The way that being around him felt more like _home_ than any of the individual places she was welcome. The strangely intense jealousy she felt when he turned his attentions on the court ladies. The reason none of her suitors were the least bit appealing to her, however handsome or kind or determined, was now apparent.

She considered what to do about this new information for only a moment; the obvious answer to that question was 'nothing at all.'

Even if he weren't her teacher and she his student, he'd shown his preferences, and they certainly weren't her. He was her closest, dearest friend, and if she told him, even if he understood her, things would be irrevocably changed between them—and not for the better.

She didn't want that.

Better, then, to let those feelings lie. They hadn't been causing a disturbance before, so they shouldn't cause a disturbance now. To go on as they always had was all she needed.

* * *

It was even easier than she expected.

She split with Perin for good, and gave the rest of the boys much firmer rejections than she had before—no use in leading them on when she didn't want anything to come of it—and let herself indulge in the feeling.

Love was truly a wondrous thing.

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

Attempt #2

It was three months past the end of the Immortals War when it occurred to Daine that she was in love with Numair Salmalín.

Sitting bolt upright in her bed, she processed this realization while a two of the castle cats grumbled about the disturbance and the dog lifted his head to see what the commotion was.

It made sense, really. Much more so than most things in her life.

He was her closest friend, her most trusted confidant, her partner in crime. Loving him was a given. Being _in_ love with him made sense in the way cats basking in the sunlight made sense.

(Unbidden, she thought of the way he held her after he'd thought she'd died after she'd fallen off that cliff—clutching her tight enough to bruise and shakily sinking to his knees as he fervently begged her to never do that to him again, choking on his laughter and halfway to tears when she told him that it would take more than a cliff to keep her away from him—and thought that maybe she was just as beloved, if not quite in the same way.)

Her canine friend rose enough to push his cold, wet nose against her cheek in concern, wondering if they needed to be up and on the move.

"It's alright," she reassured him quietly, scratching behind his ears. "Just thought of something, is all."

He whuffed and shook his ears before settling again. _Don't take too long with the fretting,_ he advised. _We must be ready for tomorrow's herding._

 _Either go back to sleep or leave,_ one of the cats grumbled at her. _You're noisy._

Daine settled again and considered what to do with this revelation.

The obvious answer was 'nothing at all', except perhaps apologizing to Perin and turning away the rest of her admirers. No use leading them on when she had no interest in them—especially now that she knew she never would.

As for Numair himself...

If he had been anyone else, she might have considered at least making her feelings known to him, but with Numair...

With him, the stakes were just too high. Their friendship was a lifeline she couldn't imagine living without. It would kill her if she did anything to damage it. It might have been different if she thought she had a chance, but she didn't, not logically.

He was her teacher. She was his student. Close as they were, it was near impossible to imagine of him thinking of her _that_ way. She was so far from the type of woman he liked it was laughable—and even the women he liked never held his attention for more than a week.

Daine didn't want a week. She wasn't sure how long she wanted, but she knew that a mere week would be a drop in a bucket of what she wanted.

If she was just his student (or his assistant, at this rate), she could have as many drops as she wanted.

That was good enough a deal for her.

Thusly decided, she rolled over and went back to sleep.

* * *

And, all told, she should have been fine. She wasn't suppressing what she felt; even she knew that that would be a futile pursuit. She wasn't pursuing these feelings, either; she'd decided that at the outset. She didn't hate herself for having them; even if there _had_ been a single thing she could do about it, love wasn't something to be hated.

So it should have been fine, right?

_Wrong._

Somehow, just _knowing_ about these feelings seemed to have them growing, multiplying, _blossoming_ out of control.

What had been a simple skip of her pulse when he laughed had turned into full-out _melting_ when he so much as smiled at her, breathless for his attention, enchanted over every last little thing she noticed about him.

She fumbled and stammered, she blushed and fidgeted, she sighed and she _swooned_ —

Gods, love made her _silly._

She did her best to hide the worst of it from him (she was pretty sure it was written all over her face anyway, but at least she could keep her endless sighing to herself), but those feelings didn't stop when she wasn't around him.

In hindsight, she'd been a fool to assume they would, but she hadn't foreseen getting distracted in the process of _mucking the stables_ by the memory of a clever comment he'd fired off at Alanna that morning. She hadn't foreseen clinging to her pitchfork and grinning uselessly into _straw and horse manure._

She found Cloud as soon as she finished, absolutely _mortified,_ and hid her burning face in the pony's coat.

* * *

* * *

* * *

OUTLINE/ADDITIONAL NOTES/BRAINSTORMING:

\- ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early early early character studies. they desperately did not want to go anywhere. i desperately tried to drag them along. we met a stalemate.
> 
> i can't remember why these didn't get a proper fic burial before? they were found at the bottom of the pile. they probably go along somewhere with 'you're my clarity' (ch1), because they're all based in the same concept that i keep coming back to (daine realizes she's in love with numair independently and Reacts), but... well, see notes/outlining/brainstorming, lol.


	16. ABO AU take #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's coming time for Daine's first heat and Numair is being oddly distant. Daine does not approve. (canonverse ABO AU; no established relationship AU)

In the few years Daine had known him, Numair had always been great fun during the month preceding Beltane.

Like all alphas, he got a little swept up in the atmosphere of April, when the birthing season had just finished and the baby fever was getting to _everyone,_ regardless of designation, the air thick with contentment and anticipation and fertility and _baby-baby-baby._

It gave him a slightly manic energy that drew you in and kept you _captivated._ He never stopped being _Numair,_ but he got irrepressibly cavalier and rakish. Playful. _Tactile._ It brought out that tiny streak of egotism in him, the braggart showoff he'd never needed to be to catch eyes, and it lit his own eyes with a _heat_ that flared and flickered but never fully calmed.

Daine wouldn't want to have to deal with him being like that all the time—he was capricious and intense, too, and trying to keep up with his fickle focus was exhausting, both mentally and physically—but for a month once a year, she enjoyed it quite a bit.

But, for some reason, this year was different.

Maybe it was because last year, the Immortals War had hit at exactly the right moment to wreak havoc on the mating cycle. They'd lost so many litters to miscarriages and premature deliveries when the barrier went down, and then the stress was running so high that very, very few omegas were able to take part in the Beltane chases, and even fewer tipped over into actual heat afterwards. The nursery was painfully empty this year—Daine hadn't even been needed to help the midwives in March, there were so few pups coming.

(And the stress of last year had thrown off _her_ cycle too; by all rights, she should have had her first heat then, if only she hadn't spent the whole month of April on the road dealing with hurrocks and killer unicorns and spidrens. As it was, her breastbands had gotten notably tighter by May, and that was the extent of spring's effects. A body knew when it wasn't a good time to bring a new litter into the world, at least.)

This year, however, there was no stress—except that _itch_ that came with too few pups, the pressing feeling that there should be more pups, and the drive to make sure that there would be more pups soon.

(Goddess, it seemed like _the whole of Tortall_ was randy. It wasn't even just the alphas and omegas going batty, it was the _betas_ too. If she walked in on _one more_ impromptu canoodling session, she was going to start lugging around a pail of cold water.)

Really, Numair should have been _intolerably_ high on life.

Numair was not high on life.

Not one bit.

Which was a shame, because if there was ever any year she could use the distraction of her unofficial alpha being on a hormone high, it was this one.

She'd known her heat would happen eventually. She'd known that she'd have to run in a Beltane chase eventually. She'd _known_ that she'd have to be claimed by an alpha one day—but the closer all of it got, the more unpleasant the prospect was.

Most omegas looked forward to Beltane.

Daine supposed that, when the word 'hunt' was mentioned, most omegas didn't think of unforgiving mountain ranges, crossbows, and the intimate knowledge that you were going to be put down like a rabid bear or served up on a platter in the great hall.

But instead of teasing the omegas until they were trying to pile in his door and riling up the other alphas into making even bigger fools of themselves than they were already, gadding about and making himself thoroughly difficult to manage, he was sullen and moody and snappish.

[there was more to this scene in my head but it's been so long i've forgotten it]

* * *

* * *

* * *

[prequel:]

When Daine tried to imagine what Numair would be like during the month leading up to Beltane, she just couldn't picture it.

Every alpha she'd ever met turned into an absolute idiot during April, compelled by forces unknown to embarrass themselves in front of every omega in range. Numair making a fool of himself in general seemed incredibly out of character, much less making a fool of himself to impress a pretty face. Seeing him succumb to courting season silliness would be downright strange.

She had lots of time to think about it. It was mid-May when she and Onua rescued him from the marsh and even later than that when Alanna's healing of him had finished, and so any silliness he might have had over it had had the time to fade completely before they began their lessons. It would be nearly a full year before April struck again.

Of course, by the time April struck, she'd mostly forgotten about it, because before courting season came birthing season.

Daine, the daughter of a midwife she was, was intimately familiar with birthing season. She continued to be intimately familiar with birthing season even after coming to Tortall, because (what felt like) all the omegas in Corus came to the end of their ten-and-a-half-month pregnancies over the course of March, which meant that every able healing-inclined body needed to be on hand to help with delivering the litters.

And here she'd thought Gallans bred like bunnies.

So it was a thoroughly exhausted Daine who dragged her feet into April and landed face-first in the nursery, one with no attention to spare for her mentor's state of mind.

Numair, who had been helping look after the older babies while their mothers were busy bonding with the newborns, just chuckled, scrubbed her back, and handed her an infant.

* * *

* * *

* * *

OUTLINE/ADDITIONAL NOTES/BRAINSTORMING:

\- tba? honestly i'm just really desperate to get the rest of these out of my drafts folders atm. i am Done. Free Me.  
\- also i'm still working on take #2 and it shares a plot with this one, so i'll probably wait until it's done and posted to add the plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo i was wandering around ffa, as one does, and someone said that the kink they got from the pern novels was the whole 'socially accepted and expected dubcon by outside forces that everyone's pretty chill about', and then someone said that one of their favorite abo tropes was the 'mating chase' trope, and then someone ELSE suggested that they didn't really want _heats_ but like breeding seasons and stuff like that, and then i was like 'why not slap all these pieces of bologna together ~~for a nice thweck sound~~ for a nice abo worldbuilding exercise?'
> 
> so!! there's a breeding season and a baby season and a breeding season and dedicated castes for Babies and social roles and [etc etc etc].
> 
> most of it will be going in take #2, so i'll link that later on. i'm just desperate for some spring cleaning.


	17. SCRAPS & ABANDONED part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misc scraps and starts of fics that never went anywhere or did anything.

**Jealousy:**

In the grand scope of Daine's life, Numair caving to pressure and courting one of the beautiful visiting nobles over the summer wasn't anywhere near the worst that had happened to her.

In the limited scope of Daine's past year, it shouldn't have even registered. She'd survived a war. She'd fallen off a cliff. She'd torn the throat out of the once-emperor of Carthak it all with a silver badger claw.

In the past week, she'd resolved tensions with the local griffins only _after_ they'd caused the deaths of a fishing vessel's worth of sailors, spent far too many long nights helping with the birthing of what felt like a whole flock of lambs, bribed Kitten out of a truly impressive sulk, lost her favorite shirt, and

And yet, if Lady Eleana of she-didn't-care-where _giggled_ one more time...

* * *

* * *

* * *

**Wolf Puppy AU take #0.5:**

Daine was scratching a fleabite behind her ear when the badger came.

— _Well now this is a right mess,_ — he grumbled, then sighed. — _I should have remembered that time passes differently in the human realms. I didn't think anyone's kit could go_ this _far astray, though._ —

Daine stopped scratching and cocked her head. This new creature was quite strange—he was both very much like and not at all like the badgers she'd met in her time.

* * *

* * *

* * *

**this love's insanity(? i think???) take #???:**

The seven weeks Numair spent in Scanra were _hell._

The late fall [???]

He was _supposed_ to be back in six weeks, which was bad enough, but then a killer unicorn attack had waylaid the entire [???]

It had been exactly seven weeks since Numair had seen the Royal Palace in Corus, and he was quite sure he never wanted to see the road again—especially not to go to Scanra. Especially not at this time of year. _Especially_ not without Daine.

She'd stayed behind to help with the tail end of the training for the newest batch of Riders all the way back in October [???]

* * *

* * *

* * *

**she's in love take #????:**

It was three days before Daine Sarrasri's 18th Beltane that it finally (finally, finally) occurred to her that she was in love with Numair Salmalín.

She'd just spent three weeks in Carthak at Lindhall's request, working with the People along the Zekoi river and spending time with (entertaining) Emperor Kaddar while he tried not to lose his mind wrangling his country under control. Numair, tied up with business in Tortall, hadn't been able to come with her.

The degree of her homesickness surprised her. She'd been out of Tortall for much longer than this before. Even after the Immortals War, she and Numair had been everywhere, helping settle mortal-Immortal relations and delivering aid to those who needed it. A mere three weeks away should have been nothing.

It wasn't nothing. She spent the whole return trip at the prow of the ship straining for a glimpse of the far shore.

* * *

* * *

* * *

**[i have no idea]:**

The date was one week past Daine Sarrasri's 17th birthday, the weather was clear and freezing cold, and the location saw Daine herself safely tucked into the warmth of the great hall.

The book in her hands had been a birthday gift, and despite her reluctance to damage anything so wonderful, there was a carefully crafted silver pen (another birthday gift) in her hands and an inkwell by her elbow as she took notes, both in the book itself and on an array of parchment on the table in front of her.

She was making fairly quick work of it—Numair wasn't going to _expect_ her to have read it and notated it all within the month, but she'd been wanting this particular book for long enough that she was eager to get a head start. There were so many things she wanted to ask him about [???]

* * *

* * *

* * *

**[ppppossibly WM numair!POV take #???]:**

In a way, that first meeting of theirs had set the tone of their friendship. When your first impression of someone was a _sun's_ worth of copper fire, a bastion of compassion and warmth and safety when you were at your most vulnerable, it left a mark.

It was startling to wake up and find that she was a child.

* * *

* * *

* * *

**100 words of only one bed:**

When Numair woke up, it was to Daine nestled quite comfortably in his arms.

He assumed it was a dream at first, as one did when he found himself with something he'd wanted far too much for far too long, but his senses kept filtering in and kept bringing in more evidence of Daine, so it would seem that he really had woken up, and it really was Daine in his arms.

At some point, she seemed to have repurposed his bicep as a pillow

Half his attention went to admiring the way her thick, dark eyelashes feathered over her cheek, and the other half went to searching his memory for the sequence of events that had led up to this rather compromising position.

He remembered immortals—killer unicorns and hurroks both—and then fighting the immortals, and then the searing panic of seeing one of the killer unicorns a little too close to Daine, and then calling on a few spells he really shouldn't have, and then... well, nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol @ all the unfinished sentences. might as well dump it all. SPRING CLEANING. _my wordcount will be accurate fuckdamn._
> 
> the only ones i have thoughts about are:  
> wolf puppy AU: dumped because it's been like... 15 years or so since i last had a puppy and i had no idea how bona fide puppy brains worked even when they're domesticated dogs, much less wolf puppies. with stay the night, i went the 'disney animal' route and found things... much easier lol.  
> only one bed: numair was way too astonishingly calm about waking up in bed with daine. by the time that occurred to me, i was alrady bored. AH WELL.
> 
> the rest are from, like, the very beginning of my d/n attempts and i've long forgotten the logic behind, like, all of them.


	18. Wild Magic Numair POV take #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Numair's hawk introduction from his POV.

Lord Sinthya was in league with Cathak. That much Numair now knew for sure.

He also knew roughly what the military strength of his fief was (greater than it was supposed to be), what Lord Sinthya planned to do with it (nothing good), when he planned to do it (soon), and who knew about it (more than he'd hoped but less than he'd feared).

The Stormwings, however, were his biggest concern.

Both because Stormwings were supposed to be locked up in the Divine Realms and their presence _here_ spoke of terrible things, and because they were on his tail.

Most likely.

Numair wasn't entirely sure of where his tail was at the moment. The ground, also, was a shaky concept, as were gravity, light, and flying.

It felt like he'd been drugged, one worse than any other drugging he'd endured. The air pitched and wobbled around him, the sickening, screeching clatter of steel distorting jeering voices, green raced above-below-across his vision— _trees, don't fall, don't fall, don't fall._

If he'd been thinking clearly, he would have known that there was no chance for him in this state. If he'd been slightly less drugged, he'd know that only adrenaline had kept him alive thus far and was unlikely to get him much farther. As it was, he only knew that stopping was death.

Over the cacophony came a long, high, clear whistle—a signal he'd once spent months listening for.

_Onua?_

The noise had dragged the Stormwings' attention off of him for one vital second, allowing him to plunge into the canopy below.

The plunge wasn't kind. Spreading his wings to slow the fall only resulted in one catching on a branch and snapping in a lightcrack of pain, tumbling sideways until it cracked again, and hitting the ground with one final burst of agony.

Numair had two seconds of being thoroughly grateful that he was, indeed, on the ground again (hard-packed and earthy and only spinning slightly) and then realized that the Stormwings could be here any second, scouring the ground for a lost hawk.

Tottering and hopping through the brush in a haze, he found a hollowed out log before the Stormwings found him, and that would have to be good enough.

He backed into it, trying not to bang his wing against the sides and failing, and then succumbed to the pain.

* * *

The Stormwings didn't come for him.

Numair was fairly certain, anyway. They were rather difficult to miss, so he didn't think he'd missed any.

The pain didn't fade by much, but eventually he got used to it.

He needed... he needed to contact Alanna somehow. She had to be nearby—she was coming to take his information to the capital, and they'd arranged to meet at a nearby village five days from now for the exchange—but there was no way he'd be able to get to their meeting place like this. There was no way he'd be getting _anywhere_ like this.

If he thought about it, he was lucky to be alive right now, and he wasn't about to be lucky for much longer.

So he tried not to think about it.

That was easier than not; the world was still spinning and his wing was still blotting out his thoughts and the drugs still wanted him unconscious.

Magically, he was drained dry. Until it came back enough to send a flare or message of some sort, he was stuck. Nothing to do but wait it out.

* * *

He had somehow entered a light doze by the time he was found—not by a Stormwing, but something... some _one_ else. The glow of wild magic crossing the small clearing was so strong, he dazedly wondered if Enzi had found him after all this time.

Then a very human face peered into his shelter, about as fuzzy as it was huge. The face vanished, then a feminine voice spoke a quiet, "Thank you," and then it reappeared. _She_ was the heart of the wild magic.

"Clever lad, to think of hiding there," she murmured, soothing. The words rang through Numair's head, gentle though they were. "Come on out—they’re gone."

Exhausted past caution, he placed himself in the two large waiting hands.

He was extracted from the log and laid to rest on top of it, head swimming at the movement. The large human-not-human loomed over him, her presence as warm as sunlight.

After a long moment, she turned away, pulling out a belt knife and cutting up first reeds, and then her own clothing, continuing to speak as she worked. Something about Onua and a splint and _try not to peck me, or we’ll never get you fixed,_ melodious on a level that wasn't entirely audible.

Numair tried not to peck her as she set his wing, which was easy enough, given that he wasn't hawk enough to feel the urge do any such thing. Much harder to fight was the noises of pain—he could not let them find him.

He screamed exactly once, the scrape of bone against bone so intense he nearly blacked out, but he got lucky and neither death nor Stormwing found him by it, only the encouragement and praise of his rescuer.

She warned him before she carried him—quite polite of her, really—and then everything was swimming too hard to keep track of.

He wasn't sure how, but he ended up with Ouna, and then in darkness, and then resting on a pony, then more darkness, then beside a fire...

The dreams came and went, twisted and nightmarish, impressions of trapped-trapped-trapped and pain and terror. When he surfaced, he was never alone. Either Onua was there, or his giant rescuer with her sunlight-warm core, or both.

It felt never ending, and the longer it went on, the more he lost to the burn of the drugs.

* * *

* * *

* * *

OUTLINE/ADDITIONAL NOTES/BRAINSTORMING:

\- TBA/none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBA


	19. Hogwarts AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daine, recently hired by Groundskeeper Chamtong to help maintain the area surrounding the castle of Hogwarts, meets a strange beslimed man by the lakeside. It's the start of something beautiful. (Hogwarts AU)

For the most part, Daine's job as Groundskeeper Onua Chamtong's assistant was straightforward.

Feeding the Giant Squid and cleaning up around the Whomping Willow and negotiating with the centaurs and returning stolen items from the nifflers' dens—it was good, solid work for a country girl who had been trained by one of the village witches and had never even attempted to take her O.W.L.s. Her knack with creatures of all sorts came in handy here too, what with the wide variety of wildlife that the school grounds and surrounding forest housed.

This... was slightly less straightforward.

The man on the ground didn't appear to be _dead,_ per se, but he didn't appear particularly lively, either.

Daine thought it would be rather inappropriate to prod someone who was very likely to be her superior with a stick, but she wasn't sure she wanted to approach the lime green puddle he was unconscious in, either.

"Sir?" she called, edging as close to the mess as she dared. He was only just far enough away from the edge of the lake shore as to keep from risking dripping in it, which was a good thing for the Giant Squid, she supposed, but rather inconvenient for her. She was here to release and un-shrink the Giant Squid's dinner, and he was between her and the pier. "Sir, please, are you alright?"

Thankfully, the man stirred without her needing to get any closer.

"Sir?" she said again as he groaned and sat up, then levered himself to his feet without a word.

He was tall, _very_ tall, with an olive tan and shoulder-length black hair that was coated quite solidly in the same slime as the rest of him, and his face, when he slicked away the worst of the goop, was quite a good-looking face, with its long nose and thick 'lashed eyes and sensitive mouth.

'Tall, dark, and handsome' never looked quite so...

He sneezed, then doubled over coughing, then spat out still more lime green slime out of his mouth. He fumbled for his wand, losing his grip on it a few times and shooting sparks before finally managing to use it to start cleaning himself off, pulling globs of the slime free and flicking them back into the puddle.

...undignified.

He had the lower half of his robes more clean than not when it occurred to him to look over to her. "...Hello."

"Hello," she replied cautiously.

He frowned. "Are you a student?"

"No, sir. I'm the groundskeeper's assistant. Veralidaine Sarrasri, sir."

He paused for a moment, then accepted that information with a little nod, then continued to remove the slime from his person without it seeming to occur to him to introduce himself in turn. Once he'd removed as much as could be reasonably removed without a thorough bath, he stepped away from the puddle and frowned at it. With a rather complicated-looking wand wiggle and a mouthed chant, the flash of an orange-tinged spell hit the mystery substance.

Daine yelped and scrambled back as the area where the substance had been _erupted_ straight upwards in a solid column of what appeared to be foam.

The wizard staggered backwards with her, yelping himself, then frantically waved his wand at the surge, shouting a spell—and slashed the column crosswise at an angle, stopping it dead less than two meters tall while the rest of it floated off into the air like a giant, sky-bound sea serpent.

He fired another spell at the escaped foam with a spike of magic so powerful she could feel it on her skin, and, abruptly, the sky-snake was a flock of birds. Pale mint green birds that looked a little too soft around the edges, but flapped their wings and cried out in burbling voices and swooped off all the same. She could hear their conversation at the edge of her awareness, about the soap they wanted to eat and the ponds they planned to nest in.

It was several seconds before she realized her mouth was hanging open, and then another few for her to remember to close it.

"Tell no one about this, if you please," said the wizard, strained, once the birds were no longer visible on the horizon. He had been boggling just as hard as she had.

"Don't worry," she said weakly. "I shouldn't think anyone'd believe me if I tried." She was fairly certain that he'd just created a whole new sustainable species in a single magical accident.

"Oh, no, they'll believe you," he assured her, turning to the slashed pillar and uttering a very clear, _scourgify._ It vanished without trouble. "I'd just get in trouble. Again. So I would prefer you didn't."

There was a wealth of implications in that statement, and Daine promptly decided that she didn't want to know any of them. "'Course, sir."

The promise earned her a warm smile. "Good girl."

Thankfully, he turned and headed for the castle before he caught her blushing.

* * *

"Um, Chamtong?" said Daine, about two weeks later, poking her head into the groundskeeper's cabin. "The... the Whomping Willow seems to have... moved."

Daine's employer looked up from her sewing and paled.

A few short minutes later, Daine had brought her to the place of the Whomping Willow's relocation. "See, mum?"

"Oh, of all the _Merlin-cursed nonsense_..." Chamtong groaned, rubbing her forehead.

"...Mistress?"

The woman set both hands on her hips. "It's Numair again—Professor Salmalín to you. See the circle?" Once it was pointed out to her, Daine could see the thin line of odd black fire that formed a ring around the tree. "He's sealed it off. This is just another one of his experiments. If you see anything like this again, look to see if there's a circle. He's good about making sure the students can't hurt themselves on his projects, at least." She turned on her heel with a sigh. "If there's no circle, or if the circle is interrupting your business, come and get me. Other than that, just go around. Lord knows there's no helping the man when he's on a roll."

"Oh." Inexplicably, Daine thought of the beslimed man. She followed Chamtong "A _teacher_ did this?"

"He teaches Ancient Runes, not that you'd know it to look at him," Chamtong said dryly. "A right genius, people say. The most powerful wizard the world has seen in decades. There are whole books of spells out there written by him. They say we're lucky to have such a genius on our staff, but _those_ folk don't have to live with him."

That was the beslimed man, Daine was now certain. She didn't know why she was certain, but she was. "So he's a fair nuisance, then?"

Chamtong startled, then snorted. "Well, I moan now, but he's a good man and a true friend," she said, wry but warm. It was less of a shift than Daine would have guessed; the gripes had been less serious than they'd sounded at first blush. "He just makes my job—our job now—hard, sometimes. Be careful of his wards and you'll be fine."

"Yes, mum."

"Now, you mentioned you can see the thestrals? It's high time I taught you how to look after them. Come."

* * *

The next time she met the wizard, he was several meters off the ground and being shaken about like a rag doll.

Daine lurched into action, dropping her sack of raked leaves and charging down the hill to where he'd been captured by the Giant Squid.

"What's all this then?" she shouted as she crashed down the shore until the water was up to her knees, projecting her words through the currents. She ducked a stray spell. "What are you doing to with man?! Put him down now, if you please, before I lose my temper."

The squid demanded to know why in Poseidon's name he should listen to a puny little human like her.

"Who brings your dinner every day?" she demanded right back, more than a bit miffed. "Who sweeps your shoals? Who makes the mermaids leave you to your rest at noon? Not _I,_ surely!"

Several minutes of scolding later, the wizard had been deposited— _gently,_ at Daine's insistence—on the shore, and the Giant Squid had squirted off in bad grace, with the promise that he wouldn't play with unsuspecting wizards so long as said wizards didn't disturb his shoals between one and three ᴘ.ᴍ., and if they did, they would get what they deserved.

Daine waded back to shore, waiting until she was completely clear of the water to release the breath she had been holding, relief making the tension melt out of her neck and spine. As good of a show she'd put up, arguing with a giant man-eating sea creature was nerve-wracking.

"Thank you," said the wizard, who was a bit damp and rumpled but otherwise not much the worse for wear. His smiled at her, eyes warm with gratitude and dancing with amusement. "That was quite impressive."

"Ma taught me well," Daine sighed, bracing her hands on her knees, and startled a snicker out of him. The sound was strangely satisfying. "Professor Salmalín?" she checked.

"Yes?" the wizard—Professor Salmalín—said, looking up.

She'd only said it to confirm his identity, but that was embarrassing to admit, so she scrambled for a proper question to follow it with. "What were you doing at the shoal?"

His eyes lit up, and Daine found herself taking the brunt a slightly incomprehensible yet very enthusiastic explanation of the finer details of water magic and word bindings and trans-temporal theory. It was interesting enough on its own, but he stopped about halfway through, looked at her face, and wryly asked her where he'd lost her. After that, she was so engrossed she forgot everything else—including the job she had come to do.

Chamtong came out in search of her eventually, and gave the two of them a stern (though not unsmiling) look and sent both of them on their respective ways.

* * *

While there was no rule strictly forbidding Daine from entering the school library, she always felt grubby and out of place there, no matter how clean or well-dressed she actually was. The rest of the castle was just a castle, if saturated in so much magic it overflowed into the countryside for a good few kilometers in every direction, but the _library_...

She found Professor Salmalín standing in front of the shelf the librarian had directed her to, idly scanning the rather heavy-looking tome he held in his large hands. He looked up at her approach and smiled. "You're a rare sight around these parts."

"Mistress Chamtong sent me," she explained, blushing and hoping that that was good enough a reason not to be turned out at the door. "She wants... _The Compendium of Common Cats and Catlike Creatures._ "

Professor Salmalín closed his book and handed it to her to hold while he scanned the shelves above his head, then beckoned one of the ladders over to him and climbed up several steps. Reaching out sideways and above, he flicked his fingers, and a threateningly girthy book slid out from between its fellows and floated into his hand with neither wand nor word nor effort.

Thus burdened, he descended the ladder and traded her it for the book he'd had her hold. "There you are."

"Thank you, sir," she said, cradling the object of her quest and glancing up at the shelves. They stretched so far up that she couldn't make out the spines of the books at the top. "I don't think I could have found it on my own. Goodness, there are so many!"

"We don't have the biggest library in the world, but we're one of the top twenty," he said with no small amount of pride. "We've been collecting books for over a thousand years now."

"I do believe _that,"_ she muttered, casting another dubious glance upwards.

"It does take a bit of practice to navigate," he acknowledged, then grinned at the face she made. "Not much of a reader?"

She shrugged uncomfortably, feeling heat rise in her face. "The books're for the students, aren't they? A groundskeeper's assistant who never got any schooling doesn't have much business here." It was much more humiliating to admit that to a man who had written a whole book himself than it had been to admit it to a practical groundskeeper looking to hire a witch or wizard for menial labor, Daine found. Suddenly, it didn't matter much that he had been the silly one during their previous meetings. "Most of 'em are probably more'n my life's worth."

"The books are for everyone," he said without a trace of derision or mockery, giving her a piercing look. "And there's no tome in the world more valuable than a life."

She shrugged again. She knew she wasn't dismissed, but she desperately wished she could leave anyway. Back to Chamtong's cabin and her own pile of things to mend, where she didn't need to know any spells more complex than her well-practiced _reparo._

"Who trained you, if you didn't go to a school?" he asked, mildly curious tone at odds with the measuring look that hadn't left his face.

"My Ma, and a few of the other witches and wizards around the village," she admitted, shifting in place. Her cheeks still burned. "Ma ran the apothecary, so I helped her with the potions and charms. The librarian taught me transfiguration, and the mechanic taught me a few defense spells. There wasn't much need for schooling in Snowsdale, and no money to send me anywhere, even so." She made a face. "Though having no O.W.L.s does make it a bit harder to find work in the city, I've found."

"Do you _want_ them?" was his next question. "Your O.W.L.s? N.E.W.Ts? Schooling?"

"With all respect sir, I earn a hundred fifty galleons a week," she said dryly, "and most of it goes home to Ma and Grandda. The test for the O.W.L.s alone is fifteen hundred if you don't got a school to sponsor you, never mind being all prepared for it." She'd seen the kinds of magic the students her age had been doing. She knew she'd never be able to pull some of those workings off, no matter how hard she studied.

He hummed; his gaze hadn't let up in the least. Drumming his fingers on the spine of his seemingly forgotten book, he said, "It's prohibitive indeed. That wasn't what I asked, though."

She shrugged for the third time, wishing he would just stop asking altogether. "Bit late for wanting, I think," she muttered. In another life, maybe her Ma would have been able to spare her from the apothecary and Grandda's retirement money would have paid for a school like Hogwarts, but that life wasn't this one. She hadn't done so badly for herself yet, all things considered.

He stared at her for another long moment, then abruptly turned and started striding down the isle, beckoning her to follow him.

The end of the journey found her with a slightly battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration,_ several rolls of parchment, and three hastily charmed quills for note-taking.

"I know it's meant for the first years," he said apologetically, like _that_ would be a worry of hers at all, "but all the subsequent textbooks rely on the theory in there. If you're missing any of it, it _will_ come back to bite you. You probably already know most of it, so feel free to skim what you don't need. Make notes for anything you didn't know before or need explaining further; I'll drop by the cabin on... let us say Sunday. You can ask any questions you like then, and we'll work from there."

"Sir—Professor?" she cut in helplessly. "Why? I can't possibly— I'm not..."

"'You're not'?" His tone suggested that there was a wrong answer to that question, but blast if she could figure out what it was.

"Not... not that clever, me." It was embarrassing, just how many spells Chamtong had had to teach her so she could do her job correctly. "I get on just fine keeping the school property in order, but..."

"I told you about advanced water magic and you had working theories within twenty minutes," Professor Salmalín said flatly, and finished off the charm on the fourth quill with an impatient twitch. "Half my seventh years will never get there. If I let a mind like that go to waste, I will never forgive myself—especially if the only thing holding her back is a lack of opportunity and low self-confidence."

You could have lit fire crackers on the heat radiating from Daine's face.

"Try to have the first chapter read by Sunday, but don't worry about it if you don't. I know Onua works you hard. If you decide you want to go through with this, I'll have a word with her. It's not like you or I are bound by the semesters, so that should make things easier in the long term. Got all that?"

"Yes, sir," she said for lack of anything better, unable to summon a coherent protest. She suspected that anything short of 'I don't want to' would be utterly obliterated anyway.

"Good," he said with that warm smile of his, and squeezed her shoulder. "And good luck."

* * *

By Sunday, she'd filled up half the scrolls with notes, burning the midnight candles down to stubs and yawning through her days as she found herself with an ever-lengthening list of things she wanted to ask him.

Chamtong teased her for her mindless dedication, but Professor Salmalín _beamed_ when he found that she'd covered a solid third of the textbook when he came by to check, and it was impossible not to smile back.

He went over her notes with her as promised, and then arranged to come back the next week.

* * *

It was about eight months that she'd been working for Groundskeeper Chamtong when she found Professor Salmalín at the mercy of the centaur herd.

 _"Hey!"_ she yelled, driven to panic at the sight of her tutor slumped against a tree with a speartip under his chin. "What do you think you're _doing?!"_

The centaur shot her an irritated look, pawing at the ground with a forehoof. "Dealing with a trespasser, human filly. Back to your flower gathering, now. This doesn't concern you."

Daine stuffed the flowers she'd been gathering into her belt pouch and stalked into the clearing. "Doesn't concern me? _Doesn't concern me?_ That man is one of the Hogwarts staff! I should think it very well _does_ concern me!"

It took a very solid dressing down, but eventually Daine gleaned that Professor Salmalín had turned himself into a hawk and had been circling over the forest when one of the younger centaurs had decided to make use of him as target practice—only finding out once he hit the ground that he was secretly an animagus, which put them within their rights to execute him for surveillance... or so the young centaur insisted.

Daine, on the other hand, only heard excuses for senseless poaching and abuse of power, and told him so in as many words, and several more besides. The arrow had been poisoned, too, which only lent fuel to her fury.

"Well?" she demanded once she had gone through her main grievances. The debacle had drawn in a small crowd of centaurs and woodland creatures. "The antidote." A couple of centaurs shifted nervously, and Daine's blood ran cold. "There _is_ an antidote, is there not?"

"Rabiano will fetch it," the centaur in charge said grudgingly.

The centaur at fault, Rabiano, looked at her face, then backed up and trotted off, leaving the rest of them in uncomfortable silence.

"If the human had known better than to fly over _our_ land—" the centaur in charge started, which brought back a flood of Daine's other grievances.

"Well, _I_ didn't know about this rule and _I_ was given your rules to work here," she snapped. "Tell me, have you thought to put up _signs_ around your property? No? I wouldn't think so, and do you know _why not?"_

By the time Rabiano returned, her audience had been suitably cowed. She took the phial from him, sniffed deeply, then pushed the cork back in and flung it at his face. _"Try again."_

"That is—"

"—a binding potion and a love potion," she finished for him, and Professor Salmalín coughed behind her. "My Ma ran the only apothecary around for miles. Try. Again. And make it quick or _so help me_..."

Robiano retreated, and Daine picked up where she'd left off.

The second potion, thankfully, was an antidote of some sort, which she accepted ungraciously and sent the crowd all off with dire threats of what would happen to them if Professor Salmalín expired here by their hand.

She'd made a good show of not needing to breathe in front of the centaurs, but she was panting when she dropped to her knees beside her indisposed tutor and carefully tipped the contents of the phial into his mouth.

His eyes fluttered open once the potion had done its work, and he fixed her with a tired grin. "Impressive," he croaked, and clumsily patted her cheek. "Very impressive."

Daine exhaled slowly, as relieved as she was exasperated. Then, as the thought struck her, said, "Can you really turn into a hawk?"

"Yes," he said, "though I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell people about that. I'm not supposed to, you see."

"Your secret is safe with me," she sighed, earning a sheepish smile, then asked, "Can you change now? I don't think you can walk and I don't think I can carry you."

He looked up and frowned at the sky, as if to say, _I hadn't thought of that,_ and then, quite suddenly, there was a large, pitch-black hawk sitting on the tree root in front of her.

"Well," she said to herself, bemused, "that's alright then," and stooped to gather him in her arms.

About halfway through the trip back, she found the courage to ask him how hard it was to shapeshift like that, and he gave her a thoughtful, sleepy cry, and she had no courage to bring the subject up again.

* * *

Their next tutoring session, a book on animagi found its way into her study materials, obviously just purchased and containing a note telling her to keep this area of study as secret as she could, just in case.

* * *

"Professor Salmalín?" she called out, knocking at his office door at half-past three. "Professor Salmalín, I have the—oh."

The door had swung open, seemingly of its own accord, revealing the wizard himself stooping over a cauldron and frowning into its depths.

"I brought the silver rose petals," she said. She had been to his office a few times before, usually to drop off materials, and it was just as much of a meticulously organized disaster as it always was. "I'll have you know I had to duel with a niffler for them, so I hope they're the right kind. I'd rather not do _that_ again."

He nodded distractedly. He looked drawn.

"...Professor Salmalín?"

His head jerked, his dark, inscrutable gaze landing on her as he gripped the edge of the cauldron.

"Are you quite alright?" she asked, worried now. He hadn't managed to get himself killed yet, but it certainly wasn't for lack of opportunity, and she didn't often find him experimenting with potions in such a small space.

He dropped his head back over his potion and nodded distantly. He didn't look particularly alright.

She edged closer, wondering if she should pick up a mask before getting as close as he was, then took a deep sniff and frowned. "If you were trying to make Amortentia, putting in silver rose petals now will only leave you with a half-strength philter with a weak spell of revealing—"

He held out a hand, cutting her off, and she deposited the satchel of rose petals into it, wincing to herself at the waste of the criminally expensive materials that had doubtlessly been used up to this point.

He started adding the petals one by one, stirring between each addition, swirling it back and forth in a way that had never occurred to her before, then looked into its depths paled even further.

"...Professor?"

He didn't look up that time, and Daine strode over. Whatever he was seeing in the cauldron wasn't evident, and he slammed the lid on it before she could get too close. Then he looked at her, still white under his tan. "Dai—Sarrasri. Sarrasri. Sorry." His voice was thick.

"Daine's alright, sir," she said slowly. Why did he look so terrified?

He raised one large hand to her cheek— _almost_ to her cheek, hovering there for a moment and then dropping back to the cauldron without making contact. "Thank you, Veralidaine." He looked away. "You're dismissed."

Daine stilled for a moment, then dove for the cupboard, frantically rummaging around for his stock of potion ingredients, and obtained a small bezoar. She took it to him, grabbed his face, forced his jaw open, and shoved the stone into his mouth, whipping out her wand and giving his throat a firm spark of wordless magic to make sure he swallowed the thing.

He doubled over in a coughing fit under her watchful eye, choking down the stone and gasping in the aftermath while she made sure the cauldron was secured shut and not in danger of spontaneous combustion. Once she had sequestered the experiment away, she turned to him and waited for him to catch his breath.

"Feeling better?" she said, and he looked at her and stared.

Then burst out laughing.

 _Really_ laughing, so hard that she thought she might hack up the bezoar before it had a chance to undo whatever the fumes had hone to his mind.

He didn't in the end, and he was still grinning when he straightened and reached out to cup her cheek, making contact fully this time. He tugged her in and, after studying her face, dropped a kiss to the crown of her head. "I'm fine, I promise," he murmured, his voice low and rough.

She drew back and fixed him with a suspicious look.

"Cross my heart and swear on the River Styx," he added, smiling faintly. He still looked wan.

"Even so, you should rest," Daine decided at length, and he only ruffled her hair fondly.

Eventually, she argued him into going to bed, and walked him to his rooms to make sure he didn't fall down along the way. He didn't fall bodily, but his mood sunk quick as lead. He gave her a brief hug at the door that felt worryingly _final,_ and, at her nagging, promised to keep a charmed malady-minder stick on him at all times for the next few days, then turned her away.

* * *

He didn't die, but for the next two weeks, he avoided her like snow avoided the late summer heat. Then she had to berate the Whomping Willow into letting him go because he tried to get into the passage below it without immobilizing it first, and things went more or less back to normal.

More or less. There was something different about him after that; more fragile and steadfast at once, and she couldn't tell if she liked it or not. It made her gut sing and twinge at odd times, a little tug on her heartstrings when he smiled just so.

* * *

[A/N: it needed a spacer scene?? maybe?? i couldn't figure out what went here though, so]

* * *

It took a couple of years in total for her to finally study all that needed to be studied before the tests, and she felt rather out of place among all the fifth years when she rightfully ought to have been graduating from her seventh year, but she only got Es and Os across the board.

Professor Salmalín swept her into a bone-crushing hug when she showed him, pressing a kiss to her forehead so firm and fervent that her own lips tingled in sympathy, then made her take the day off so he could treat her to celebratory butterbeer and chocolate.

She teased him for not even making it firewhiskey, and he just told her that she was still his student, and he wouldn't be caught corrupting her, thank you very much.

* * *

[A/N: iiiiiiii lost my outline for this, rip but i THINK my ideas were something like:  
\- daine achieving her animagus form (a wolf) and being ridiculously happy about it and idk i just think the image of her prancing around numair in the middle of a lightning storm and yipping while he gives her All The Scritches (and then it leads to ust somehow) would be super cute (she'd be about 17-18 here i think?)  
\- daine figures out her feelings via correctly-made amortenia  
\- some student catching them chatting and calling out the blatant pining (in a "lol don't bother with professor salmalín, he's totally gone on the groundskeeper's assistant, see?" to a friend kind of way iirc) (~18-19 here)  
\- he gives her really super pretty hairpins for her... 20th? bday because i just really wanted him pinning up her hair for her ok  
\- some... really super lowkey confession/kiss scene in a private location (i think i was imagining his study) (could be combined with the previous bulletpoint tho)

...somewhere in there, there's a mention of her passing her newts too. idk. maybe the soapbirds make a comeback?????????]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo i was trying to fill an assignment for bulletproof exchange (prompt: hogwarts au) except i ended up REALLY close to the deadline and burning out on this fic trying to force the words too fast and too hard and basically every time i look at this i feel empty ._.
> 
> ....as it turned out, i wasn't cut off at the deadline and i could have totally taken a few more days with this but... at that point i was just. laid out flat. (and honestly this just wasn't speaking HOGWARTS to me deeply enough; i haven't reread any of the HP books in... several years;; where is my AESTHETIC....;;;)
> 
> technically i still have this assignment (technically) but there are other prompts that leave me a little less ;~; so... _yeah._


	20. modern AU #??

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rainsoaked and upset Character A (Daine) warmed up/fussed over by dry Character B (Numair)." (modern AU)

When Daine got off the bus, it was to sheeting rain. It would have her soaked through in minutes, but she turned left and started walking, despite having no umbrella.

It took her a solid twenty minutes to get to her destination, and by that time, indeed, she was soaked to the bone, her teeth chattering and insides shuddering. She only realized when she got there that there was a good chance she'd damaged her textbooks as well.

Nothing to be done about it now.

At her firm, measured knock, Numair answered the door, looking confused. He was dressed for an evening at home, she noted, a thick tan sweater stretched over his broad, powerful chest and worn-but-sturdy jeans covering his long legs. He hadn't put on his shoes to check his company, his feet bare on the welcome mat, and his soft, wavy jet-black locks were loose from their customary horsetail, only just brushing his shoulders. His dark, sensitive face was contorted in dawning alarm.

The gentle golden glow of lamplight and toasty heat emanating from the room behind him fit the image well, she thought.

In contrast, she knew that if someone had dunked her in a river on her way here, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Her hair and clothing were plastered to her skin, her book bag was ruined, and her boots squelched with every step. It was only with him staring at her like that that she started to realize what she must look like to him—part-teenage girl, part- _drowned rat_ dropping rainwater all over his front porch.

_"Daine?"_

She opened her mouth to ask if she could study here for a few hours, and found that she couldn't. Her throat had locked up. Trying to breathe around it brought her dangerously close to a sob.

He nearly hauled her in, his large hands hot as brands on her numbed flesh. "What happened?!"

She tried to speak again, found hot tears trickling through the ice-cold raindrops, and clamped her teeth shut, giving up with a shake of her head.

"Wait here," he instructed, his voice dropping into a soothing murmur. "Put your bag over there; I'll get to it in a moment."

She put her bag over there—against the corner of the half-wall that marked the entrance to the foyer—and waited, trying to blink the tears out of her eyes and only coming up with more.

Perhaps her excuse of wanting a study space was a bit flimsier than she'd thought it was. Admittedly, she hadn't given it very much thought.

Numair returned with towels and a space heater shortly. He dropped the heater next to her bag and took one of his massively oversized towels to drape over her head and wrap around her like a cape, letting her hold the other one while he carefully, _carefully_ patted her tears dry.

"Daine, sweet?" he murmured, his face so close and so horribly worried—about _her,_ worried not for himself, or for circumstances out of her control, or for the consequences of anybody's actions, but about her and her alone—and Daine broke.

Pitching forward, she buried her wet face in his sweater and sobbed incoherently.

Heedless of the water, he wrapped his arms around her and held her _wonderfully_ tight, his hot breath warming the towel covering her head with comforting nonsense.

He didn't let go even when she started to calm down (which was good, because as soon as she realized it, she broke down all over again), and it was only once her breath had completely evened out and she started trying to pull away did he release her.

He held her chin for a moment, studying her tear-mussed face, then let go and straightened. "Go take a shower; you're freezing. Leave your clothes outside the door and I'll put them in the wash."

All out of protests (had she ever had any for him?), she went to obey.

* * *

She entered an achy, distant zen as she let the water warm her, the peace and safety of Numair's house doing for her mind what the spray did for her body.

It was a fancy shower, but it had a normal shower head with adjustable pressure along with all its other bells and whistles, and that was the one she used, setting the pressure to just a shade softer than her shower at home and the temperature at a gentle heat. She found soap and shampoo on the shelf embedded into the wall; a few near-untouched generic bottles and much more extensive (and extensively used) specialty sorts he used to keep his wiry mane tamed. She picked one of the generic ones that smelled nice, and ignored the conditioners.

In the stillness, knowing Numair wouldn't interrupt her so long as she didn't seem to have drowned, she tracked down a razor to shave her legs, too, the simple, mindless, self-indulgent ritual soothing her nerves. It felt— _good,_ to track down every last patch and leave it smooth and clean, and it had been a good long while since she'd had the chance to.

She lost track of how long she stayed there once she was done; the hot water never ran out and the blue gloom outside the window never changed shades, so it was impossible to tell. Eventually, once her fingers and feet were wrinkled and her lungs were tired of the steam, she stepped out and found another bath sheet to wrap herself in. A more normally-sized towel went around her head in a turban.

She had just uncovered the bathrobes in the cupboard when Numair knocked at the door.

"Are you decent?" he asked, muffled by the wood.

"Hang on—" She spotted a robe smaller than the large fluffy white ones that would swamp her, grey-green and likely left behind by Varice, and donned it. "—yes."

He entered, blinked at her for a moment like she was something unexpected, then looked at her turban and winced.

She had expected him to fetch something from the sprawling vanity, or maybe come deliver her clothes, but instead, he carefully unwrapped her hair and pulled out a hair dryer.

He didn't say a word as he came to stand behind her and flicked it on, the oddly quiet hum of the machine a sharp contrast to the preternaturally loud one her ma used. The warm press of air made her neck tingle pleasantly.

First with a comb, then with a brush, he sorted out her long curls, his large hands as skilled as they were kind, careful not to tug her scalp or stretch the strands.

Shamefully, her eyes started to water and spill over yet again, all of her insides squeezed painfully tight at the sheer _care_ in his touch. She managed to keep from bawling, though it was a near thing, and for the most part, he graciously ignored her trembling mouth and repeated dashing of tears.

It was only once he set down the hair dryer that he gathered her into his arms again, cradling her close as a few hitching sobs slipped through the cracks.

"Have you eaten?" he asked softly, once she'd calmed once again.

She shook her head.

"Come."

Still dressed in only the robe, she found herself parked in front of the television in the den with a blanket wrapped around her and a nature documentary playing on the screen. Her boots were by the door, stuffed and wrapped in newspaper. A few of her books were fanned open in front of the space heater, and her backpack had been cleaned, stuffed, and covered, just the same as her boots, the assorted knickknacks and supplies placed in a dish beside it.

The narrator was still introducing pygmy marmosets when Numair returned from the kitchen with a bowl of thick butternut squash stew and a bottle of water and gave her both, along with a caress for her head, then exited the den again.

And she was alone.

It wasn't that she minded, _really,_ but it was a bit... lonely, to be sitting here, dwarfed by his massive couch and surrounded by aquariums and books.

She did have warm food and blessed silence, though, with no parents or grandparents stalking about or snarling over her head and no calculations running in her head over how they were going to afford the necessities after her ma's latest indiscretion. Really, loneliness was _vastly_ preferable to that, and she would take her brief reprieve gratefully.

The narrator finished the introduction, and then Numair was back.

She watched in bemusement as he found a TV tray and left it beside her with his battered laptop on top of it, went to plug in the cord, and then came back, settling next to her cross-legged and pulling the laptop off the tray so he could work as she watched.

She didn't tear up at his thoughtfulness this time— _finally_ —just let the glow of quiet companionship bloom in her gut as she slumped into him sideways, the simple contact soothing and healing hurts she hadn't even known she had.

(It was also making her very... _aware_ of how bare she was under the blanket and borrowed robe, her breasts and meticulously shaved legs rubbing terrycloth.

He smelled good, she noted idly, feeling her cheeks burn and her belly tingle with it. Soap and spices, cologne and faint musk—pleasantly masculine.)

He didn't speak as they sat, just typed up line after line of code, occasionally murmuring to himself and counting things on the screen with a finger. She alternated between watching him and watching the documentary, catching an unpaired curly bracket once or twice, and misspelled functions a few more times, pointing them out to him and receiving a grateful, affectionate shoulder nudge each time.

Finally, once the documentary was done and she was scrolling through his streaming services for another, _definitely_ several hours after she'd arrived, he asked, "So, what brings you to my neck of the woods this fine Friday afternoon?"

She shrugged, feeling the lump jump back into her throat and swallowing it back down again, irritated. "'S hard to focus at home." She cleared her throat when her voice cracked. "So I thought I'd ask if I could come study."

"I see," he said, so mild and gentle as to be entirely inscrutable. He idly tapped the corner of his keyboard. "Did something happen?"

If he were anyone else, she would mumble something about her ma and grandda having a fight and then change the subject, but Numair was Numair, so what came out of her mouth was the not-so-simple truth.

"Ma got another DUI, 'cept this time her 'friend' got her into... something else, too." She felt his breath hitch, and wished she had more to offer than, "Dunno what. E, maybe? She wasn't badly off. She just... cried, 'specially when Grandda yelled at her." It was such a small thing, compared to what could have happened, but Sarra was such a fundamentally _cheerful_ person that seeing her cry was disturbing in ways Daine couldn't fully articulate.

Numair seemed to know anyway, somehow. He took his hand off the keyboard so he could wrap his arm around her in a fierce side-hug.

"I think—" Her voice cracked again. "—I think she's gonna need testing again. I dunno where she's going, 'n she won't tell us, which means something's off. There's a free clinic I know of for the sex stuff, but the ticket's harder. Me'n Grandda panicked last night and froze her cards, and she was none too pleased with us, and that didn't help no one."

She felt him press his lips to the crown of her head and blinked back tears for the third time that day.

"Money's gonna be tight this month, what with the ticket'n all. I don't know what Grandda's gonna have to cut, but it's gotta be something." She shrugged as much as she could, caught under his arm like this, and pushed back the clawing panic. No sense worrying until she knew what needed to be done. "And then... bad day at school, and I didn't want to go home just yet."

"And you don't have to." He rubbed her bicep and drew her in a little tighter, warm and strong and reassuringly _solid._ "School?"

"I failed my chemistry quiz today," she admitted, shamefaced. "I should've known it—I _studied_ —but I was so tired I couldn't focus, and..."

"Then the grade wasn't your fault," he said firmly when she trailed off. "Are you in danger of failing the year?"

She gritted her teeth and forced herself to tally up her (distinctly unimpressive) grades. It was worse telling it to Numair, who had not only graduated _everything_ early, but was always willing to explain the bits she didn't understand—letting him know that his help wasn't enough to save her progress felt like failing _him,_ never mind the class. Thankfully, she was fairly certain that she had more Cs than Ds in that one. "No, I... I don't think so. I haven't had any time to study, but... I think I'm doing alright."

"Then I shall spare the dean," he said amiably, and she pressed her elbow into his side, unspeakably grateful that he was willing to go to bat for her and horribly embarrassed that he'd try.

"And I, um..." She swallowed. "I had a fight with Perin." It was always awkward bringing up Perin around Numair—he _intensely_ disliked the boy for reasons she couldn't quite parse. He was never too impressed with the guys that liked her, but he seemed to have reserved a special kind of disgust for Perin.

"Did you?" he said lightly, not reacting other than stiffening slightly, and the need to tell _someone_ overrode the discomfort.

"I caught him with—with Selda," she said, voice staggering slightly where she hadn't expected it to. "Seems to me they've become very good 'friends' in that study group of theirs."

Numair didn't respond except for a deep, slow breath.

"I knew it anyway," she reassured him—her kind-of-boyfriend's infidelity was well-rumored around school—and then the crux of the matter tumbled out of her: "But then he yelled at _me_ for it and said it was _my_ fault for ignoring him." Suddenly she was on the edge of tears again, _again,_ as the unfairness of it all hit her. "I'm _trying_ but there's just no _time."_

There was a long moment of silence while she got her tremors under control, then: "My dear, with all due respect, I can't say for certain that he deserves the air you breathe, much less your effort and attention." The pleasantness Numair said _that_ with was borderline terrifying.

She sniffled a laugh, which hitched into a sob, and then she buried her face in his chest and cried.

He shuffled the laptop to the side and pulled her into his lap, not even hesitating to comfort her, and the relief was so intense it hurt.

"Dump him," Numair advised sagely—or 'commanded', maybe—once she was nearly dozing against him. There was a slight threat buried in those two words, but they weren't directed at her. None of it was directed at her except the painfully gentle care he handled her with.

She laughed wetly. "Yessir."

"What _did_ you like about him?" he asked, like he couldn't fathom the answer.

Thinking about it, Daine wasn't quite sure _she_ could, either. "...He was... well enough, I suppose."

"...'Well enough'."

"Well, it's got to be someone, doesn't it?" she pointed out.

Numair inhaled, chest expanding, like he had something to say to that, held the breath as he faltered, and then exhaled like a defeat. "No, love. It very much does not."

"It makes people stop asking," she mumbled, embarrassed at the asperity in his voice. _She_ hadn't thought much of it.

[A/N: this is where numair would say something like "god at LEAST go out with someone you're attracted to" and daine would be like "????? attraction" and numair would go "..nnnnope! not having this conversation!" except daine would be /thinking/ about it and going _wait. so. attraction would be... someone i think is... hot?? makes me feel tingly and nice?? someone i want to be around a lot?? so someone like numair...??_ and then the thought trails off there before she admits the connection to herself]

She felt him nose the top of her head for a moment, stroking her back. "I was going to ask when I was to drive you back, but I can see now that I'm not."

Blinking, she asked, "What?"

He ignored her, instead pulling the laptop back and resting it on her lap, now that she had taken his. "What size do you wear, if I may ask?"

"...Small," she said, bemused, and watched as he pulled up an online catalogue for clothing.

[A/N: SO HERE and i'm not sure /how/ here, but HERE. daine protests him buying her clothing, and he's like "NOPE i'm kidnapping you sorry, no teenage girl should be going through what you're going through and ESPECIALLY not you"

_"my family won't be okay without me dammit"_

"you're fifteen. they're adults. they can clean up their own shit. that's not your job."

"but--!!!"

"you made no promises and they're Failing You."

a beat while daine tries to process that.

"you don't have to stay here forever but for a few days. please."

"...but zek [her hamster]..."

"i can drive you past your house tomorrow and you can get him. one night won't kill him."

and daine (reluctantly!! but quickly) caves because being cared for for _once_ is Just Too Nice

(somewhere in here either she realizes (or he says or both) that she came to him instead of alanna or onua (both of whom were closer and easier to get to) because she knew he'd take her in and care for her where onua would just take her right back to her family and the coopers would be too busy and too noisy)

also, this was the point at which i realized i wanted numair to have adopted skysong-the-cat (kitten) because daine's home wasn't... the greatest, and she adores daine but lives with numair still, but i lost steam before going back and injecting her to the fic; mostly this is because i wanted to have daine's pets (Good Family) mostly at numair's, and cats are distinctly harder to shift around than hamsters

the next day he takes her to get an overnight bag and also drives by the locksmith and the bank to print her a key (for both his house and car, the first of which is Necessary and the second of which is 'in case of emergency') and get her a checking account (maintained at $1.2k? idk he's rich and it's under the excuse of "i might need you to buy groceries or whatever, besides it's just a good idea, i swear ~~and if you want to pay off that ticket i'm not looking~~ ") which daine flails and flusters over

N: look, i trust you, just.. don't use them to buy a bunch of shoes or whatever  
D: ...  
N: ...unless you need shoes, in which case, go ahead, but no, like, louboutins, lol  
D: ...  
N: ...unless you need louboutins  
D: ......  
N: do you need—?  
D: _i don't need louboutins_  
N: ok good. let me know if you do because that won't cover them.  
D: **_8|_**

there might have been sugar daddy jokes? numair's like _"oh god no"_ and daine's silently thinking like _well everyone thinks it anyway... maybe i won't say That lol;;;_

AND THERE WOULD... probably be a scene break here. atfer which due to Reasons (that i never did brainstorm, but was semi-tempted to make 'numair thoughtlessly walks out of the shower shirtless'), that conversation about attraction finally gets through daine's head and she has an 'oh. _oh._ ' moment over it.

i had Ideas for how the fallout of that would go? daine would tell her family she was staying with a "friend" and refuse to give up details, and her parents would let that slide, and she'd be staying like... half-or-more of the time at numair's and still just refusing to tell anyone.

ultimately there wouldn't be any major consequences for anyone, because this is more of a liminal space fic than anything else. the pining is both Mutual and Strong, but neither of them do anything about it until daine's in college or so, and _that_... is another fic. this is the prequel to a college/roommates au i haven't written (yet?).]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another "the brainweirds are making me floaty, time to churn out a few thousand words of h/c" project (or just hurt, but i was in a comforty mood this time), and yet another time i just completely lost interest once the stress had passed.
> 
> headspaces. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
